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September, 1888. 


ume /. No. 5. 


PRICE, 25 CENTS.' Yearly, $3.00. 


True to 


Herself. 


By MRS. J. H. WALWORTH, 

i;r of " The I'ar .Sinister,” “The New Man at Rossmere,” “Without JMeniish,” “Old Fulkerson’s 
• * Clerk,” “Southern Silhouettes,” etc., etc. 


rtLEMANHATTAN'SERlK 



’UBLISHED MONTHLY. 


Entered at the New York Post Office as second-class matter. 







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THE-MANHftTTAN-SERllK 


EACH NUMBER CONTAINS A COMPLETE 


Fopuiar American oopynght Novel, 


Uniform ’With This Volume. 


Published Monthly. Yearly Subscription $3.00. Single Copy 25 cents. 


Yearly subscriptions solicited. Additional titles will be announced 
in forthcoming volumes. 


of Tllles : 


THE MIDNIGHT MARRIAGE. 
MARRIED IN MASK. 


By Amanda M. Douglas. 


By Mansfield Tracy Walworth. 


THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT. 


TRIXY ; or, The Shadow of 
TRUE TO HERSELF. 


By Mary A. Denison. 

a Crime. 

By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 
By Mrs. J. H. Walworth. 


7 'he above are for sale at all Book-Stores and Newsdealers^ or will 
be sent post-paid on receipt of price (25 cents'), by the publisher, 

A. L. BURT, 56 Beekman St, New York. 


TRUE TO HERSELF 


A NOVEL. 


/ 

By MRS. J. H. WALWORTH, 


A uthor o/ 


“The Bar Sinister,” “The New Man at Rossmere,” “Without Blemish,” 
“ Old Fulkerson’s Clerk,” “ Southern Silhouettes,” etc., etc. 



NEW YORK: 

A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER. 



Copyright 1888, by A. L. Burt. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


CHAPTEE I. 

A STOKMY OUTLOOK. 

S ILENCE reigned throughout the stately mansion of 
the Ballantynes, situated on the broad, beautiful 
street called Esplanade, in the oldest and most aristo- 
cratic quarter of the city of New Orleans. Esplanade is 
a sort of Faubourg St. Germain to the Crescent City. A 
super-refined locality, where outside barbarians catch 
glimpses of nothing that does not tend to confirm its 
local traditions of lofty lineage, haughty integrity and 
irreproachable record. Where poverty may gain an en- 
trance at the door, but gentility will never, never fly out 
at the window. A spot, where such inviolable propriety is 
the rule, that a solecism offends the amour-propre of a 
whole neigborhood, and a lapse from good form in- 
sures ostracism. 

The silence which brooded over the house in question 
was not that well-bred quietude, which goes without say- 
ing in all aristocratic domiciles, as the natural outcome 
of softly-carpeted floors, massively thick door, heavily- 
draped windows, thoroughly-trained servants, and ultra- 
refined inmates; rather was it that suggestive ominous 
silence that betokens volcanic activity in the domestic 
crater, either just passed or imminently near in the 
future. 

It was early morning, but not too early for even aristo- 
cratic eyes to be well awake, and aristocratic molars to 
set their mills a grinding, unless, indeed, their owners 
have reached those dizzy social heights where punctual- 
ity becomes a doubtful virtue, and a healthy appetite a 
thing to blush for. 


6 


TRm TO HERSELF. 


Along the length and breadth of the noble avenue a 
fresh, brisk, cheerful stream of city life at its best 
coursed along. Brisk men-servants, in immaculate white 
aprons and spotless white jackets, scudded along with 
capacious willow baskets on their arms, in a neck-to- 
neck race with their fellows, to secure the very best 
the market affords for the particular set of digestive or- 
gans that they have contracted to cater to; smart maid- 
servants swept and scoured, gossiped, from contiguous 
door- ways; ice-carts moved with the deliberation of as- 
sured patronage from area-gate to area-gate,, depositing 
unquestioned the crystal blocks that were to carry cold 
comfort to their customers within. The waffle-men and 
the muffin-men, tinkled their bells, and glared at each 
other in malignant rivalry as the wheels of their respec- 
tive carts almost locked in their eager haste for suprem- 
acy; huge, ugly, cotton-floats rumbled noisily over the 
cobble-stones, in apologetic haste to rid this aristocratic 
locality of their uncouth presence; captive finches and 
canaries, and mocking-birds fluttered and twittered and 
yoddled their little throats empty from many a gilded 
prison, swung from balcony or window, singing songs so 
gayly defiant as if the uses of adversity had really 
proven sweet to them. 

Bright-eyed school boys, fresh of resolve, eager of step, 
with book-strap swung carelessly across their shoulders, 
whistled their way down the street, sturdily contemptu- 
ous of passing cars or any other sort of artificial motion 
slower than a bicycle. Well-to-do householders, portly of 
aspect and serene of visage, issued at short intervals from 
various door- ways, standing meditatively, using golden 
tooth-picks after the manner of those who dwell with 
complacent retrospection over joys and steaks they have 
tasted, until the drowsy tinkle of the approaching car- 
bell summoned them to proceed with dignified delibera- 
tion to the duties of the day. 

^ The big bell of St. Elizabeth's Infant Home rang for 
nine o^clock, and still no sign of activity had been given 
to the outer world from the home of the Ballantynes, al- 
though as a general rule, the ringing of St, Elizabeth's 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


7 


bell bad the effect of starting all delinquents into 
smarter activity for awhile, at least, and the master of 
that mansion was a man of punctual business habits. 

As the last sonorous stroke died upon the air, render- 
ing the human voice audible again, Mrs. Ballantyne^s 
housemaid gave a final shake to the door-mat against the 
lamppost immediately in front of the Dubose^s, in order 
to say confidentially to the Dubose^s housemaid, whose 
mat also had to receive a final shake on the same lamp- 
post. 

Somethin^ up at our house, sho^s as you^’re born! 
He^s gone and 'did fur hisself this time, I raly do expec^ 
Thar’s thunder in the air at our house.” 

How you know so much?” asked her gossip, with 
eager interest in voice and eye, notwithstanding the 
mockery of her question. 

ain’t deef, is I? ISTur I ain’t filin’, is I? hTur I 
ain’t no fool, nuther, is I?” 

^^No,” her friend grants, dubiously, ‘^but ” 

^^But me no buts. Jus’ yo’ wait and use yo’ ears and 
eyes, and you’ll hear news ’fore long.” 

And as "there was no more dust nor gossip to be ex- 
tracted, the two exchanges” parted company for the 
time being. 

Within doors, various indisputable signs of ^^some- 
thing up” awed the servants into greater discretion, 
slyer watchfulness, and humbler obsequiousness. 

The morning’s paper lay upon the table in the damp, 
wrinkled twist the carrier had given it when flinging it 
up to the second story balcony. The master, instead of 
reading it first thing, as was his wont, had been standing 
motionless before one of the windows that overlooked the 
back alley — an unsightly outlook always, even in the 
most irreproachable premises — absently twisting in his 
nervous fingers the woolen tassel of the window-shade. 

Master Emile, the only child of the house, had been 
given his breakfast separately, and dispatched to school 
ahead of time. 

The breakfast waited — had waited for half an hour. 
Such an occurrence was unprecedented within the recol- 
lection of the oldest in service. 


8 


TBUE TO HEBSELF. 


Mrs. Frederic Ballantyne, the mistress, cold, hand- 
some, supercilious, exacting, did not abate one jot nor 
one tittle of her rigid rules for household governance, 
without showing just and ample cause therefor. 

Of that the tribe of menials felt so well assured that 
impatience of delay was swallowed up in discreet but 
torturing curiosity as to ^‘^what was up.'’^ 

The very cat seemed to recognize the fact that this 
morning was not as other mornings, and crept stealthily 
from the rug to the window, to rub himself in against 
the master^s firmly-planted feet and back again to his 
own particular cushion with a restless uneasiness, caused 
maybe, by the surcharge of electricity in the atmosphere; 
or, it may be again, the cat was hungry. 

With, tread scarcely less stealthy than the cat^s, Felix, 
Mrs. Ballantyne^s perfect dining-room servitor, paced at 
irregular intervals from the dining-room to the kitchen, 
from the kitchen to the pantry, where Kosetta was clean- 
ing lamps, back to the dining-room, reporting to cook 
that ‘^^the master hadnT so much as batted an eye- 
lid in the last two hours;^' reporting to Eosetta that 
cook said she felt it in her bones that some un more’n 
or’nary was up;^^ reporting to the master, by a gentle 
cough, that time was fleeting, and man must eat, let 
that mysterious something that ‘^Mvas up^-* be never 
so pressing. 

But the master stood immovable, fascinated, appar- 
ently, by the olla-podrida of ash-barrels, cast-off boots, 
battered tin-cans, worn-out scrubbing brushes, and the 
other wrecks which usually go to make up the properties 
of back alleys, only releasing the long woolen tassel of 
the window-blind now and then to pull his mustache 
fiercely with the same nervous fingers, as if each partic- 
ular hair had given mortal offense, and was destined to 
be plucked out and cast from him. 

At last the mistress’ bell! and breakfast maybe served. 
It is a frigidly polite couple that seat themselves at the 
long waiting-table, where everthing looks bright and 
pleasing, except the faces of those for whom Felix has 
labored in vain on this lurid morning. 


TRUE TO EERSELE 


0 


Remember, Frederic, you have promised me to do it 
this morning, says the mistress to her husband, with 
more of command than entreaty in her voice. Longer 
delay is absolutely useless. Forbearance has ceased to 
be commendable; is, in fact, but another name for 
cowardly weakness. Prompt and decided action is the 
only recourse left you as a father and a man with a trust 
to fulfill. I have " 

have promised you, have I not?” her husband 
interrupts, almost savagely. 

Then he ceases his restless toying with the carving- 
steel, and with ferocious zeal falls to dissecting a spring- 
chicken. 

Presently he fiashes an angrily impatient look across 
at his handsome spouse, opens his mouth, pronounces 
her name rather ungently; then, with a sudden effort, 
seems to resolve on wasting no more words in useless 
argument. 

Yes,” says the lady, after a discreet pause, have 
your promise in words; but if ever I saw irresolution and 
anxiety for a loophole of escape, visible in any man^s 
countenance and demeanor, they are visible in yours at 
this moment, Mr. Ballantyne. But it must be done, if 
not by you, well, then by me!” 

Rest assured it shall be done. Otherwise I know of 
no way to purchase an hour^s peace under my own roof. 
But I assure you I bring to the performance of this duty 
feelings vastly more appropriate to a Cain than to a 
Daniel. What am I, Emily, that I should sit in judg' 
ment on the lad ?” 

You are not called upon to sit in judgment on the 
^ lad ’ as you are pleased still to call your brother, who 
reached his majority some months ago. You are simply 
carrying out the last expressed wishes of your father, and 
I fail .to see where either the murderous vice of a Cain or 
the judicial virtue of a Daniel have any bearing on the 
matter.” 

While they were talking, there had glided into the 
room and into her place at table, a slender, fragile, 
delicate-faced old lady, whose faded blue eyes, filled now 


10 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


with eager anxiety, roved from one to the other of the 
two handsome, angry faces before her, as if it were her 
own fate and happiness they were playing battledore and 
shuttlecock with. There was an apology in her way of 
entering the room, as if she more than suspected that 
her perpetual absence could have been borne philo- 
sophically; there was an apology in the manner in which 
she squeezed into her chair witliout displacing it by the 
fraction of an inch, as if desirous of propitiating the 
powers that were by giving the minimum of trouble; 
there was an apology in the way she folded her napkin 
resignedly over her black alpaca dress, as if prepared to 
be meekly thankful for all mercies vouchsafed; there 
was an apology in her entire bearing toward her magnifi- 
cent daughter-in-law, as if she felt guiltily conscious that 
she had never yet satisfactorily accounted to that superb 
creature for remaining so long in the world, after she 
might have been expected by every consideration of 
reason and nature to leave it; there was an extra apology 
now in the tremulous tones of her voice as she raised it 
to ask: 

What is it you have promised to do, Frederic? Ex- 
cuse me, Emily, I do not often venture to intrude when 
you and your husband are discussing things, but is it 
Everard you are talking about? Excuse me, dears, you 
know my old ears may have deceived me, my hearing's 
not what it used to be. I thought — I heard you — you 
said — I mean — I gathered — oh, dear me! I donTknow, 
1 was just afraid — please excuse me, dears — both; I 
thought you said ^majority,'’ and Frederic said ^ad,"" 
didnT you, son? What of my boy^s majority? my 
understanding's not what it used to be. I know the 
lad’s a little wild. Youn^ men with money and leisure 
are apt to be that, dears; but he’s not wicked nor vicious, 
oh, dear, no, not one particle. Just be patient with 
him, dears, please, for my sake, if I may ask it; my,, 
nerves are not what they used to be. His heart’s in the 
right place, I’m sure of that, else he wouldn’t always be so 
good and loving to a useless old mother like me. Ah, I 
am not what I used to be, in any respect. His head 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


11 


will grow cool and wise soon enough, dears — soon 
enough. This is a great world for knocking folly out of 
young heads — a great world and a hard one. The 
world^s not just what it used to be. I am afraid my 
boy does annoy you, Emily, coming home late of nights. 
But young men must have some liberty, dear. I expect 
you and I were quite as bad at his time of life, Frederic, 
eh, son?’^ 

All unconscious that in her zealous defense of the Ben- 
jamin of her old age, she had rashly cast the slur of in- 
temperance upon her own youthful record. Mother 
Ballantyne (as she was called to distinguish her from 
Mrs. Ballantyne, junior) promised eagerly to talk to 
Everard, to tell him that it would not do. That Ins 
sister-in-law did not like his ways, that his brother did 
not like them, that she herself, his long-sulfering, little- 
complaining mother, did not like them, and, althougli 
Mother Ballantyne^s command of language ‘^Mvas not 
what it used to be,^^ who could pause to be critical within 
sound of that poor thin, pleading voice? within sight of 
those big salt tears that blinded the faded eyes and 
trickled slowly down the withered cheeks unheeded and 
unchecked, till they fell hot and scalding on the trem- 
bling hands clasped meekly together in the mother^s lap, 
causing her to start and flush apologetically, as, with a 
hysterical laugh, she wiped them quickly away on the 
table napkin. 

No one with a heart softer than the nether millstone, 
which, it would seem, Mrs. Fredericks was not; for she 
looked with frigid unconcern into her mother-in-law’s 
agitated face as she answered: 

You need not trouble yourself to speak to Everard on 
my behalf, mother. I am fully capable of protecting myself 
against annoyance from that or any other source. The 
time has come when I consider it imperative to do so. 
Mr. Ballantyne will be my spokesman this morning. 
Last night^s performances completely exhausted my long- 
suffering patience. I am sure every one — with tlie ex- 
ception, perhaps, of Everard s mother — will agree that it 
has been long-suffering. 


TRUE TO HERBELF. 




The elder Mrs. Ballantyne turned from the speaker 
toward her son. 

Frederic, what are you going to do? Speak! I, 
your old mother, command it?^"’ For a brief while terror 
for her darling overcame the mothers habitual timidity, 
and, with an unwonted air of command about her, she 
stood before her son. I have consented to be put aside, 
trampled upon, made of no consequence — an object of 
contemptuous pity to the very servants about the prem- 
ises — because you and Everard are all I have in the 
world, and I wanted to keep him under your influence 
as long as possible. I know he is not all he should be. 
I know he is just at a turning point, where good influ- 
ences might make him everything my heart could wish, 
where the want of them might prove his undoing. You 
have a son of your own, Emily. Have a care how you 
deal by my boy — my wild, erring lad, now gone astray, 
but easy to be won back — oh! so easy; while his sense of 
shame is so keen, his remorse so bitter! With what 
measure you mete it shall be measured unto you again, 
daughter-in-law! You have not told me yet what it is 
Frederic has promised you to do this morning, but I 
know it is something terrible, and crj^el and flnal. You 
cannot hide the signs of agitation from your mother^s 
eye, son, though my eyesight is not what it used to be. 
And even yofl, Emily, hard and cold as you are, look 
half-scared. Excuse me, dears; I know I have talked very 
excitedly, and maybe very foolishly. My nerves are not 
what they used to be, and when you touch Everard you 
touch my hearFs core, my souFs life; my all-in-all! 
Pears, excuse me; Fve let my fears quite run away with 
my discretion and my tongue!’^ 

And with an apologetic gesture Mother Ballantyne 
wiped her dim eyes, laughing with a feeble, hysterical 
cachinnation, as if to assure everybody that she was con- 
vinced nothing terrible, and cruel, and flnal was about to 
be done to her ^^hearFs core.^^ Oh, no! It was all the 
silly imaginings of a silly old woman, whose self-com- 
mand was not what it used to be. 

Mrs. Frederic's handsome face bad indeed paled and 


TRUE TO HER8BLF, 


13 


flushed, and paled again, during this unlooked-for burst 
of maternal eloquence, and as the mother sank feebly 
back into her chair she said, not ungently: 

Listen to me for a few moments, mother, and I will 
endeavor to make my position clear to you. So clear 
that even you, Everard’s mother, must see that I am sim- 
ply acting according to the stern dictates of my own 
conscience. I owe a duty to my own child before every- 
thing or anyone. Everard Ballantyne is very dissipated. 
Hopelessly so, I do believe. I have been very patient 
with him. Have talked to him as a sister has a right to 
talk to an erring brother. You know, as well as I do, 
the contents of that codicil which is to be read to him 
this morning. Three years ago, when his father died, it 
was evident he had fears of Everard^s steadiness of char- 
acter or purpose, and I have heard him say to you, in our 
presence, that rather than see the money he had amassed 
by toil and patience squandered on a fast young man^s 
pleasures, he would endow a lunatic asylum with it.'’^ 
Yes, yes, I know poor dear Mr. Ballantyne^s temper 
was not what it used to be. Everard tried him, I know; 
he tried him ^rely. Go on!^^ 

In view of that codicil,^^ Mrs. Fredericks resumes, I 
cannot see how my husband can any longer avoid bring- 
ing matters to an issue with his brother, whose last 
night^s performance certainly does not encourage us to 
hope for better things. Personally, I am interested to 
this extent only; Emile is now thirteen years of age — a 
receptive and an imitative age. He admires his uncle 
Everard far beyond that uncle's merits. Your son^s ex- 
ample is pernicious to my son^s morals. My own fortune 
is sufficiently large to secure me from the imputation of 
mercenary motives in desiring the codicil to go into effect; 
but this is my house, my marriage gift from my own father, 
and Everard Ballantyne is no longer a welcome inmate 
under its roof. 

^‘Merci, gentle sister said a slightly scoffing voice at 
her elbow, and the culprit, who had thrown the genteel 
household of the Ballantyneks completely off its balance, 
advanced, with an air of assumed bravado that but poorly 
concealed his genuine discomfort toward the group. 


14 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


He had eyidently heard his sister-in-law^s last words, 
for he had stood irresolutely grasping the door-handle for 
a second, his large eyes fixed with remorseful anxiety on 
the family group about the table. He did indeed look 
almost a boy, with his slender figure, smooth-shaven 
chin and close-cropped curly hair, Too young and slight 
and malleable to be given over to the powers of evil. 

His first impulse had been to beat a retreat from the 
door and leave the house for ever, without any word of 
explanation or apology. He doubted if he was worth the 
trouble he gave all these good people. 

But his mother’s tear-stained, troubled face unmanned 
him. Frederic’s look of anxious gloom touched his heart; 
even Emily’s austere condemnation smote his conscience^ 
with a sense of its justice. He knew they were right, 
and he would tell them so presently, for whatever else 
his feelings, Everard Ballantyne was always the gentle- 
man, and this thing that he proposed to do must be done 
in his own courteous manner. 

An awkward silence had succeeded to his mocking 
^^merci,” happily broken by the first cheerful sound the 
Ballantyne walls had echoed to that solemn morning. 

Again the door opened to admit a laggard. One of 
the pleasantest regulations about this house was that, 
although no meal could by any stretch of authority be 
ordered before the mistress’s mandate went forth, inmates 
were not required to eat in unison, swallow in concert, 
and digest in squads. Hence a sort of regular irregularity 
had become a matter of course, that was pleasanter than 
most of the household regulations of Mrs. Frederic Bal- 
lantyne. 

^^What a set of cormorants!” cried a fresh girlish 
voice. Felix, have they left me any breakfast? Yes! 
Beg pardon all around. You are not a set of cormor- 
ants — you are a set of abstemious ascetics. Don’t be- 
lieve there’s a dozen mouthfuls eaten from the looks of 
your plates and your faces, everybody looks sour and 
dissatisfied. You had better had been to Madame Gus- 
tine’s, as I have been, singing for an hour; that’s the 
way to get up an appetite. She insists upon my coming 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


15 


to her at the most ungodly time in the morning; says no 
one can sing with a throat full of crumbs. Jenny Lind 
herself couldn^t. Then nothing would do but I must 
look at her flowers with her. I wonder how the young 
ladies do manage in novels. They take the longest sort 
of walks, in the dewiest sort of places, in the whitest 
sort of dresses and the thinnest sort of slippers, but we 
are never told that they got. their skirts bedraggled, or 
caught cold in their heads. I am afraid there’s not the 
making of a waterproof heroine in me. I got home 
with shocking looking skirts, and I’m as hoarse as a frog. 
J list see what pretty boutonnieres I have brought for 
everybody’s plates! But cold gravy and mignonette 
should never be served together. So I shall put them in 
the vases instead. Ah, one unturned plate ! — one unsat- 
isfled cormorant — permit me I” 

And with a gesture full of grace and sweetness the 
bringer of the boutonnieres and the sunshine deposited 
her dainty offering upon Everard’s napkin. 

‘^Wliat a glum-looking set!” she continued, settling 
herself into her chair, with a rustle of crisp muslin and 
flutter of ribbons. ^SSister, icy! Fred, grumpy! Mamma 

Baliantyne, sad, mad, or bad! Emile, vanished and 

Theresa!” Mrs. Frederic here angrily interrupted, 
^^will you never learn that there is a time for all things, 
and that there are certain occasions upon which cheer- 
fulness degenerates into levity? You are so very late 
that you must excuse me if I leave you to order your 
own breakfast. Everard, when you have finished yours 
your brother and I would like to see you in the library.” 

AVith which Mrs. Frederic glided out of the room, 
leaving an atmosphere behind her as if an ice-blast had 
swept over them. 

Over-awed and abashed, Theresa looked after her 
sister’s retreating form in wonderment, then brought 
her eyes back to Everard’s pale face. 

What’s the matter with everybody?” she asked. 

Thersie’s was one of those simple direct natures that 
believed in solving doubts by plain, forward questioning, 
and, owing to the remoteness of apartments and sound- 


IG 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


ness of her slumbers, had heard nothing of last nighf s 
disturbance. 

I am inviie.. to a lecture/^ Everard answered 
lightly. 

Poor fellow! I feel for you. ■ I always have a season- 
ticket for the whole course. Sister^s lectures are forci- 
ble, but never fatal, the girl says, proceeding with dainty 
skill to crack an egg-shell. 

She is entirely in the right, the culprit acknowl- 
edges right manfully. It was a foolish arrangement, 
our all huddling under one roof, like paupers who could 
not afford separate shelter; but I yielded to mother in 
the matter. She said I was too young to take charge of 
the plantation, and she was too old; so between the ex- 
tremes of our ages we have come to grief. 

^^Oh, don^t blame Mamma Ballantyne for anything! 
It was so natural that she should want to keep you and 
Ered together. You two are all she has in the world. 
And as she was living here before you came home from 
college, it seemed so easy for you to come here, instead 
of dragging her away. I^m sure weVe all been very 
happy together, excepting 

She paused in blushing confusion. 

Excepting. Everard calmly finished the sentence 
for her, ‘^when I have made a dog of myself as I did 
last night. It is not right, Thersie, that I should impose 
my vile presence any longer on my sister-in-law^s family, 
nor do I intend to do so. You have always been good, 
and kind, and patient with me. I shall not forget it. 
Good-by. I must go now to the chamber of the Inquisi- 
tion.^^ 

Eising, he came round to Thersie^s side of the table 
and held out his hand. They were alone. 

Mr. Ballantyne, senior, had left the table while his 
wife was explaining her own position to his mother, and 
she, poor old lady, had tottered from the room soon 
after, to do battle with her sorrow in her own private 
apartments. 

You have not finished my sentence exactly as I in- 
tended, Thersie answered, looking him very honestly 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


17 


in the face. did not know there was any fresh 
trouble on hand. I saw that everybody looked glum, 
and I am a strong believer in the efficacy of nonsense as 
a corrective in such cases; so I just rattled straight along, 
and perhaps have said what I had best have left unsaid. 
We nave lived almost like sister and brother, Everard, 
since we both left school, so I am sure you will not mind 
my saying if you just would, or just could, stop it, stop 
it entirely. You know we would all be so much more 
comfortable about you, especially poor dear Mamma 
Ballantyne, who, I will venture to assert, is at this mo- 
ment crying her eyes out about you.^^ 

Hush! Theresa. You are very good, and your little 
lecture has been delivered very gently, and I hope you 
will be as good as you have always been to poor old 
mother. I know she grieves over me more than I de- 
serve to be grieved over; for, take me all in all, I^m not 
worth a toss-up.^'’ With which verbal self-abasement he 
turned from her hastily and left the room. 


18 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


CHAPTER 11. 

MR. FREDERIC BALLANTYKE DOES HIS DUTY. 

I T SEEMED to Everard Ballantyne, wrought up as 
he was to a state of nervous excitement almost be- 
yond his power of control, that especial pains had^ been 
taken on this occasion to mortify and humiliate him by 
an ostentatious display of virtuous necessity on the part 
of ‘Hhe opposition/^ as he bitterly denominated his 
brother and his sister-in-law mentally. 

The last proverbial feather had been added by the 
presence of Mrs. Ballantyne^’s lawyer, a legal gentleman 
who had been the custodian of her own and her young 
sisteEs — Theresa Gordon^s — property since the period of 
their orphanage in childhood. 

Sleek, self-assured, watchful and furtive. Lawyer 
Phillips sat at the library table, with a formidable array 
of papers, pens and ink before him, apparently supple- 
menting the papers by yet one more, as if the moody- 
browed lad who sullenly glared at them all, like some 
hunted thing at bay, was to be brought back into the 
way he should goby the multiplying of whereas and 
^^be it knowns,^'’ or to the addition of a few more inches 
of red tape. 

It was evident Lawyer Phillips was fully impressed 
with the importance of his own role in the domestic 
drama, for beyond a hurried glance and a quick nod 
toward the culprit, he took no further notice of him, 
but scratched away with bowed head and cramped 
fingers, waiting for his cue. 

Everard,” Mrs. Ballantyne said to the young man, 
as he seated 'himself with defiantly folded arms, ^^we 
are gathered here this morning to perform a most dis- 
agreeable duty. But, that it is a duty, and a sternly 


TRUE TO SER8ELF. 


19 


imperative one, wliicli Mr. Ballantyne and I both owe 
to our son, no one can fail to see. I shall leave your 
brother and Mr. Phillips to explain the legal points of 
your position to you. I have only this to say for my- 
self: When your father was brought here to die, after 
meeting with that fatal accident, he employed the few 
hours of life left him in pleading with me for you and 
your mother. He asked me to give her a home here, 
for with Frederic married and you at college, her life on 
the plantation alone would have been unendurable. I 
did it gladly, and here she is welcome to remain as long 
as she lives. 

Mrs. Frederic paused at this juncture to cough, her 
cough lasting quite long enough for her auditors to in- 
sert comment, if desirous of doing so. 

Mr. Phillips availed himself of the opportunity to the 
extent of a mumbled indorsement of her admirable 
conduct in the matter. 

^‘ He asked me, furthermore, when you returned from 
college, to do all in my power to keep you under the eye 
and influence of your brother. I also acceded to that 
demand, offering you a home under the same roof with 
your mother and brother. My conscience acquits me 
of having failed either you or him in any one particular, 
but I can no longer bear with your dissipated excesses. 
I am not willing to run the risk of a repetition of last 
night^s disgraceful performances. When the watchman 
had to arouse half a neighborhood to see my doors 
opened to receive one self-forgetful 

^MYretch, we will call him, for lack of a stronger 
word,^^ Everard suggests. 

Mrs. Ballantyne accepted his conclusion by not sub- 
stituting any milder substantive, and added: 

As a visitor to your mother and brother, you will al- 
ways find my doors open to you, but this can no longer 
be your home. I regret that you have forced me to this 
decision. Mr. Ballantyne I leave the rest in your hands. 
I hope you will do your duty unflinchingly. I am sure 
]\Ir. Phillips will aid you and sustain you in it. Mr. 
Phillips before you leave the house I shall have to con- 


no 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


suit you on some of my own affairs. I will return to 
you in an liour.'^^ 

Madam anticipates my own desire/^ says the law- 
yer, raising his keen, deep-set eyes from the writing be- 
fore him to look searchingly into the lady^s haughty face. 

I shall await her pleasure. 

Then she turned, and extending a plump, white hand 
to her young brother-in-law, said, with a sudden soft- 
ness in her voice, as if, at the eleventh hour, pity had 
found a lodgment in that stony heart: 

‘^Everard, will you not say farewell in kindness 

With rigidly locked arms he ha*d listened to her 
harangue. He did not alter his position now, as he an- 
swered: 

^^You have done your duty unflinchingly, sister-in- 
law. I thank you for the shelter of your roof. I say 
farewell without any malice in my heart. I hope Emile 
will grow up all your heart can wish and as unlike his 
unfortunate uncle as possible. You are perfectly right 
to protect him against the contamination of my presence. 
With such precepts as you inculcate, and such an exam- 
ple of granite virtue as you set him, I doubt not he will 
attain as near to perfection as possable to one encum- 
bered with mortal flesh and human frailties. Brother 
Frederic do your duty. Pardon the obtuseness that has 
prevented my discovering for myself so far what that 
member of the dramatis ‘personm . has to do with my 
affairs/'’ indicating Mr. Phillips with a contemptuous 
nod of his head. ^‘'Perhaps he has been employed to 
draw up a writ of ejectment, with such legal verbiage 
and ponderous precision as shall crush this offender with 
a keener sense of abasement than his own conscience has 
already scourged him with. Sister, I wish vou a very 
long good-by. 

Feeling decidedly as if the ^‘"writ of ejectment were 
being executed against herself, in her own stately apart- 
ment, by this haughty scapegrace, Mrs. Ballantyne^s 
softened impulse crystallized into glittering hardness of 
voice and eye instantaneously. 

You will be so good as to bear in mind, Everard,^’ 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


21 


she said, icily, ^^that Mr. Phillips is as much my friend 
as my legal adviser. Owing to his accidental presence in 
the house when your father was brought here, he chanced 
to be the recipient of his last wishes, in place of your 
own family lawyer, Mr. Cochrane. But as they are of 
one and the same firm, it created no confusion in the 
business. Once more, good-by. 

As the door closed upon his wife^s inexorable counte- 
nance Mr. Frederic Ballantyne was conscious of an al- 
most irrepressible desire to knock that smirking lawyer 
on the head and send him about his business; to scatter 
those horribly binding papers to the four winds of 
heaven; to utter wild and senseless curses, just by way 
of individual and personal relief, and to give Everard 
his fraternal permission to go to the devil in his own 
way, and at his own gait, just as fast as he pleased, 
without any let or hindrance from him (his brother) or 
anybody else. Instead, he proceeded to do his duty 
with an unsteady voice and down-dropt eyes. 

Everard, lad,^^ he began, I would give all that I 
am worth to wash my hands of this whole business, but 
the dying commands of father carry tremendous and 
lasting weight with them, and when those commands 
are embodied in his last will and testament, witnessed by 
lawyers and all that sort of thing, I suppose there^’s no 
getting around obeying them, is there 

course there isn't, old boy!" said the culprit, 
smiling affectionately into the troubled face of his elder 
brother. ^^But I say, Fred, whatever you have to do, 
do it quickly and without any circumlocutory nonsense 
please. I've had enough of that for to-day. Don't let's 
gush, whatever we do, especially in the sternly practical 
presence of red-tape and legal gentlemen." 

Mr. Phillips, will you be so kind as to read aloud 
the codicil to my father's will?" Mr. Ballantyne, senior, 
asked nervously. 

And in a harsh, cold, nasal voice Everard Ballantyne 
heard the codicil to his father's will thus intoned: 

What I leave ehind me has been amassed by hard 


2 ^ 


TRTIE TO EEBSELE. 


toil and frugal expenditure. I wish to guard against its 
being squandered by dissipation or thriftlessness. In 
the body of my will my two sons inherit equally, after 
the mother’s portion has been deducted. My son, Ever- 
ard Ballantyne, is a source of heart-felt anxiety to me. 
If by the time he shall have reached his majority he still 
persists in the evil courses that have taken hold upon 
him so early in life, I deem it best to cast him upon his 
own resources as the only check I can devise - for his sal- 
vation and for the preservation of my own estate. 
Therefore, I do declare it to be my last and unalterable 
decision that, if he be given to intemperance when the 
will goes into effect, and if he, on the proper under- 
standing of its contents, refuses to give bond for future 
good conduct, I desire that all my property shall accrue 
to my elder son, Frederic Ballantyne, to whose generosity 
I leave it to decide upon a fitting yearly allowance for 
his brother Everard, and to him, my son, Frederic Bal- 
lantyne, I leave the execution of this my last expressed 
command as a solemn obligation to his dead father.” 

Mr. Phillips paused, leaned back in his chair, took off 
his glasses, wiped them, replaced them across his strongly 
bridged nose, coughed a dry, technical cough, and tapped 
the table before him with his lead pencil by way of 
gentle reminder that the solemn silence then pervading 
the apartment was not calculated to bring the business 
of the meeting to as speedy a termination as was desir- 
able for a gentleman with a world of clients awaiting 
him elsewhere. 

Father was always hard on me,” said Everard, pres- 
ently. ^^I am not very much surprised. I think his 
English blood made him incline toward the laws of 
primogeniture, anyhow, and he wasn’t sorry of an excuse 
to entail the property on you, Fred. I am only a 
younger son, and must fight it out on that ground.” 

This was said so simply and coolly that both men 
looked at the disinherited to discover, if they could, 
whether he had fully grasped the fact that he was penni- 
less. His looks told them nothing. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


23 


But you know, Ev, there is one way out of \i” said 
Frederic, eagerly. 

^Oind that?” 

The temperance pledge!. Here, I have one all pre- 
pared for you. I got Mr. Phillips to draw it up. As a 
friend, you know! I^m sure youdl sign it, old boy, just 
to hel]) me out of this accursed mess.” 

Everard glanced it over contemptuously, then slowly 
tearing it into ribbons of exact dimensions, he curled 
them up into neat allumettes while giving them his final 
answer: 

You know, Fred, I donT believe in such paper bul- 
warks against the attacks of the devil. I donT uphold 
drunkenness any more than does Mrs. Frederic herself. 
But if a man hasnT the inherent strength, the moral 
courage and manly will to keep straight without being 
kept so by fear of the world^'s sneer over a broken 
-pjedge, I think the quicker that man drinks himself out 
of the world the better for the world. Thanks, both to 
you and the gentleman who has taken such pains to pre- 
pare these legal handcuffs and bandages for my rickety 
morals, but I have no fancy for proclaiming myself a re- 
formed drunkard to all mankind. I have but one com- 
plaint to make, and that is of the rather indecent haste 
with which my friends have made up their minds that I 
had made up mine to go straight to perdition.” 

You refuse?” 

^‘1 do, most emphatically.” 

Then, my boy, there is nothing left for me to do 
but to decide upon your yearly allowance,” says Frederic, 
sadly. 

You can spare yourself that trouble, too, Fred.” 

What do you mean?” 

That I won’t have a yearly allowance.” 

Won’t have it.^” 

‘^Not one cent,” said the younger son, with vicious 
vehemence, thrusting his slender hands into the pockets 
of his trousers, and stretching his long legs with leisurely 
deliberation as far as they would go, as if settling down to 
an obstinate and prolonged controversy, if there was no 
way of avoiding one. 


24 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Then I donT know what to do/^ says the elder 
Ballantyne, in a kind of desperation; while the lawyer 
asked, with suspicious eagerness: 

Do you propose to contest your father’s will, young 
man?” 

Everard glanced him over with undisguised dislike, 
and, without other notice of his inquiry, turned again 
toward his brother. 

Don’t know what to do! Why, I think you have 
done pretty much all there is for you to do, Fred, unless 
it be to dismiss Mrs. Ballantyne’s legal gentleman, so 
that we may discuss our own affairs without any imper- 
tinent interference.” 

^‘^Do you mean me, sir.^” asks the lawyer, half risign 
in blustering wrath. 

Of course not. I mean those brass fire-dogs,” the 
young man answered, with cool insolence, fixing his 
large eyes calmly on the excited face of his questioner. 

“ Your words are actionable, sir,” says the legal man, 
retreating instinctively to his stronghold of defense. 

So are my boots,” Everard answers, dangerously; 
and there was a gleam in his eyes that warned the lawyer 
against aggravating him any further. 

Kising, Mr. Phillips gathered his papers together with 
nervous haste, and muttering something about the inu- 
tility of any further effort on his part to adjust matters, 
and about Mrs. Frederic probably waiting for him, he 
shuffled toward the door, where he paused to add, with 
considerable show of returning good for evil: 

We will forget what has just passed, Mr. Everard. 
You are sore this morning — naturally sore — in consider- 
ation of which I shall overlook your insulting remarks. 
My respect for your brother and sister is such that I re- 
gard it almost in the light of duty to forget and forgive 
your boyish ebullition of temper. I am sure that upon 
reflection you will be found ready to apologize for your 
very unprovoked attack. Gentlemen, I wish you both 
good-morning.” 

I have never yet clearly understood, Fred, what that 
pettifogging rogue has to do with our business, anyway. 


trtte to herself. 


25 

I thought Cochrane was father^s business man,” Everard 
says, as the door closes upon his routed adversary. 

You know, my boy, that when father met with that 
terrible accident that cost him his life, he had come up 
to town purposely to see Cochrane. Mother says when 
he left the plantation he told her he was going to town 
‘ to make it all right about the boy.'’ She always believed, 
and I think she was right, that her importunities had 
availed with him, and that he meant to cancel the codicil 
Phillips just now read to you. You know he had it in- 
serted just after that bad scrape of yours at college. 
Unfortunately I was out of town when they brought him 
here, but Emily gave him the care and attention of an 
own daughter. She never left his side until the power 
of speech failed him. He signified his desire to see a 
lawyer, and as her messenger was in the habit of going 
for Mr. Phillips at her command, he summoned him 
instead of Cochrane. You know Phillips had charge of 
her business and Thersie^s before I married her. It 
would have made little difference, however, if Cochrane 
had come in his stead, as father was speechless when 
he arrived and they say it was impossible to com- 
prehend his signs. I did not know Emily had been 
so fond of him. She was completely overcome with agi- 
tation when he drew his last breath. I always will believe 
that father meant to destro y that codicil and let the 
original will remain in force. I wish you would contest 
it Ev.” 

You advise me to your own son^s loss,” Everard an- 
swered, a little incredulously. 

Mr. Ballantyne fiushed painfully. 

It is that which causes my inability to act freely and 
liberally. You know Emily. She is a good wife in the 
main, but as ambitious as Lucifer. A voluntary setting 
aside of the codicil on my part would be a death-blow 
to every chance of peace on earth for me. But if you 
succeed in breaking the will, no one would be better 
pleased than myself. Emily will have plenty as it is.” 

I do not entertain the idea of contesting the will for 
half a second. There are no grounds for action in case 


^6 


TRUE TO HER8ELE 


I did. We have no reasons at all for doubting my 
father’s intentions excepting poor old mother’s assevera- 
tions that he promised her ^ to make it all right.’ I may 
be a trilling dog, Fred, but hang me if I am quite ready 
to turn scoundrel. It’s all right, I suppose. At least, 
whether it is or not, I don’t propose to interfere as an 
adjuster. I’ll do well enough. I suppose any fellow 
with a pair of hands and half a head on his shoulders 
can find some w^ay of making his own bread and meat, 
and if he can’t he deserves to go without any. I hope 
your wife will be kind to mother when I am gone. Ex- 
tra kind, I mean, for the poor old dear will likely make 
a nuisance out of herself about me for a little while. 
And don’t you worry about me, either, old boy. I’ll get 
along tip-top. Give my love to Thersie, and tell her I 
leave mother as her especial charge.” 

‘'‘'Where are you going, Everard?” Mr. Ballantyne 
asked, anxiously, as they stand for a moment with clasped 
hands. 

To Carondelet Street immediately, likely to perdi- 
tion ultimately, but first I must kiss mother good-by. 
We’ll not lose sight of each other down-town, Ered.” 

You don’t mean by that that you are going to cut 
the house altogether?” 

I don’t exactly see what else there is left for me 
to do. I am afraid I was too much exasperated this 
morning by Phillips’ presence to act as I should have 
done to your wife. Say the proper thing for me to her, 
will you ?” 

^‘' Oh, Emily will understand and overlook. But 
Phillips! I am afraid you have made an enemy there, 
Everard, and a dangerous one. He is as unscrupulous 
as the devil where he has an end to attain. And after 
this morning’s performance he will not hesitate to injure 
you, if he can.” 

‘'‘I’ll be hanged if it don’t puzzle me to imagine what 
harm he could possibly do a poor devil without a dime in 
the world, but I suppose, on the general principle of ‘ bet- 
ter the good than the ill will of a dog,’ you are correct.” 

The soundness of which philosophy was being forcibly 


TEUE TO HERSELE, 


27 


illustrated at that very moment in the back parlor, where 
Lawyer Phillips was standing, hat in hand, his interview 
with the lady of the house evidently about drawing to a 
close with this singular and significant peroration : 

^'The conception of your plan was excellent, your ex- 
ecution of it clumsy. But due allowance must be made 
for you on the score of inexperience and agitation. I take it 
for granted it was your first experiment in — that line. 
There is generally some sound moral maxim underlying 
even our failures. The one suggested by yours (only a 
partial failure — a failure as far as inviolable secrecy goes) 
is, beware of manifold paper, which, while undoubtedly a 
great convenience to those who use it purposely and intelli- 
gently, is as dangerous as nitro-glycerine when used igno- 
rantly. If the victim of your successful ruse had not 
taken such especial pains to secure my undying hatred 
this morning, it might have complicated matters some- 
what. As it is, the whole matter is resolved into a little 
private compact between you and me. I will see you 
soon again and let you know my terms. 


28 


TBTIE TO HERSELF, 


CHAPTER III. 


IN BUSINESS. 


HTERING his office, upon Carondolet Street, 
rather later than was his punctual habit one 



morning, Mr. Leslie Davenport, senior member of a 
well and favorably known firm of cotton factors in the 
Crescent City, found two ladies sitting composedly in 
his private office. 

Not that it was an unprecedented thing for ladies to 
come there, for a large share of his business was done 
with the gentler sex. Widows, with plantations, who 
trusted confidingly to him as a man of established prob- 
ity, and came to him for advice as well as advances; 
wives and daughters who came to ^^the city^^ from the 
rural districts with drafts from his constituents, the 
payment of which was generally supplemented by an 
invitation on his part for the lake or the opera; import- 
unate females, with subscription books for one or an- 
other of the countless charities largely sustained by the 
generous and gentlemanly syndicate of commission mer- 
chants; reduced females, who came as book agents, and 
cried their wares and their woes with impartial persis- 
tency. He was familiar with them all, but, as to his 
certain knowledge, he had never before seen either of 
the two who rose to greet his entrance on this particular 
morning, nor ever before heard the frank, girlish voice 
that hastened to apologize for the intrusion. 

He regarded them with some natural curiosity. The 
two were the antipodes of each other. The one, an old 
lady, pale, feeble and tremulous, stood before him with 
her black-gloved hands meekly folded over one another, 
while her gentle eyes rested with affectionate pride upon 
her companion's animated countenance — a countenance 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


29 


replete with amiability and intelligence — whose owner, 
in a quietly self-possessed voice, asked if they had the 
pleasure of addressing Mr. Leslie Davenport.^'’ 

^^At your service, ladies, the merchant answered, 
with grave courtesy, and stood, hat in hand, waiting for 
them to declare their business. 

Then Thersie, hopeless of inducing her companion to 
take the initiative, added, blushing lightly the while, 
for she knew enough of the world to feel the awkward- 
ness of her situation: 

‘^You have recently employed another clerk, Mr. 
Davenport, we have been given to understand — Mr. Ev- 
erard Ballantyne/^ 

^‘1 have.-’^ 

This lady is his mother, she went on, laying her 
hand encouragingly upon the mother^s stooping shoul- 
ders. She is extremely anxious to see him this morn- 
ing, and as we do not know his place of lodging, we 
have been compelled to intrude ourselves here, where I 
hope you will not object to our waiting for him.” 

^ ^Assuredly not. Pray make yourselves perfectly 
comfortable, ladies, until your friend comes in. He is 
our sample clerk, and is at the compress just now, I 
presume.” 

And with one gravely respectful bow to both, Mr. 
Leslie Davenport turned from them, hung his hat upon 
its own particular peg, wheeled his office-chair into posi- 
tion in front of his desk, and was, to all appearances, 
soon deeply immersed in the examination of a huge pile 
of letters he found thereon. 

Mother and sweetheart!” he found himself comment- 
ing, mentally as he ran the paper knife under the flap of 
a fresh envelope. ^^Ballantyne is a handsome dog, but 
that girl has more sense and pluck in her little finger 
than he has in his whole head. Splendid eyes; sweet, 
firm mouth; quiet manners; high-bred poise of the head. 
Nothing hysterical in her voice, neither a giggle nor a 
whine. The fiend himself could not intimidate her. 
You donT meet that sort at every turn in life.” 

Thersie^ meanwhile, was looking at his broad back and 


30 


TFiUE TO EERSELF. 


short-cropped hair and finely-developed head, and won- 
dering if the strength indicated by his massive physique 
extended to the moral and the mental man, and if he 
were a married man. 

And Mother Ballantyne was also trying, in a feeble 
sort of way, to guess what manner of man this was who 
was invested with a sort of proprietorship in her boy- 
wondering if he was kind to Everard, or if he was harsh 
and exacting, making no allowance for the fact that her 
hoy was unused to labor of any description, and had been 
reared with great expectations. 

Thersie!'^ she ventured presently to ask, in a cautious 
undertone, supposing Everard^s master completely ab- 
sorbed in his letters, ^^what is a sample clerk 

I really don^t know. Mamma Ballantyne, unless, per- 
haps, that is the mercantile designation for those ex- 
tremely thin, excessively long-limbed youths, with atten- 
uated necks and weak eyes, whom we so often meet 
in the cars loaded down with clumsy, blue-papered 
packages.'’^ 

‘^My poor boy loaded down with those horrid, pudgy 
blue bundles, for all the world like a peddler! Oh, 
Thersie!*^ 

^^Oh, the pack is not at all heavy, I am quite sure,^^ 
says Thersie, briskly. It^s only clumsy, and I suspect 
that your poor boy is awfully stupid about handling his 
pack. A very inferior sort of peddler, in fact. It thrills 
me with horror to imagine him squeezing into a crowded 
street car, mowing a pathway through hats and plumes 
and bonnets, and outstretched toes and protuberant 
knees. 

If his visitors could have seen the amused smile that 
played around Mr. Davenporks fine mouth just then, 
they would either have incorrectly concluded that he 
had fallen upon a very funny communication among his 
letters, or correctly pronounced his absorption in business 
a fraud. 

And, Thersie, what is a compress?^^ Everard ’smother 
continued, anxiously. 

It is the place where they send bales of cotton to be 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


ai 

compressed into the smallest possible compass before 
reshipment to Liverpool/'’ the girl answers. ^'And I 
really think it is a great pity that some reformer couldn^t 
invent a machine on the principle of the compress 
through which young men of festive proclivities might 
be passed, to have all their wild oats compressed into a 
quart measure. What a world of trouble it would save 
us through life!^^ 

I really do believe you are going to turn against him 
too,^^ Everard^s mother began plaintively. Oh, Ther- 
sie, if you give him up I” 

Mr. Davenport rose abruptly. It would never do to 
sit there eavesdropping when the conversation between 
his visitors was becoming decidedly serious. So, with- 
out pausing to hear Thersie’s reply, he came toward 
them, saying: 

You will surely not be kept w^aiting very much 
longer, ladies. Mr. Ballantyne^’s stay has already been 
somewhat prolonged.” 

But .while his words were apparently addressed to the 
mother, his eyes, with searching interest, rested upon 
the younger woman’s sweet face. 

What a giant!” says Mother Ballantyne, as he strode 
before them through the long, barren outer office and 
into the street beyond. 

A very symmetrical one,” Thersie answers. And 
did you notice his face? I am quite sure he has been 
listening to and laughing at us.” 

I don’t think my eyes ever got higher up than his 
knees,” the old lady says apologetically. 

Then you missed a great deal. I have never yet 
found that a man’s knees conveyed any very correct 
notion of his moral and mental characteristics. But 
Everard’s master has such a strong, massive, sensible 
face that I know I should like him ever so well.” 

‘‘1 do wish, Thersie, you would not speak of Ever- 
ard’s ^master.’ I don’t like the sound of it at all.” 

That’s the trouble with us all in the South, Mother 
Ballantyne, we are so desperately squeamish about trifles. 
You Ballantynes will be death of me yet with your dis- 


32 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


tinctions without differences. At last!'^ she added, with 
a sigh of relief as the street-door was darkened by 
Everard^s tall, slender form. 

Mother he called out with pleased surprise, ^^and 
Thersie, too! This is being really good to me.^^ And 
with a hand extended to each of his visitors he looked 
down upon them with affectionate gratitude. 

Of course it is good of us,'’^ Thersie hastened to say 
lightly, for Mother Ballantyne was given to opening the 
flood-gates of emotion at inopportune moments and in- 
convenient places, and Miss Gordon had no notion of 
assisting at a sensational tableau in Mr. Davenport's 
office, ‘^^and I am glad to And you so appreciative. Of 
course, though, you are to understand that we did not 
come here simply for the satisfaction of hearing you 
enunciate such a truism.” 

Everard looked at her with lover-like pleasure as she 
rattled gayly on, content that she was there bodily be- 
fore him — ^the interview of her own seeking. Did not 
this give him full guarantee that she regarded him as 
something more than a cumberer of the earth, entitled 
to forbearing consideration on the score of family con- 
nection? 

We have come to ask you,” she went on, where 
you are boarding, and, in fact, we expect you to escort 
us there right away. Mamma Ballantyne, we can cer- 
tainly discuss affairs much better in your room than in 
an office from which we have virtually banished the 
rightful owner.” 

- Davenport! Have you seen him? Oh, he^s a regu- 
lar brick !^a trump! He wonT mind.” 

I told you so,” says Thersie, conclusively, turning 
upon Mrs. Ballantyne and pulling her well together, 
preparatory to her appearance in the street. 

Told her what?” Everard asks. 

That your employer was a brick-trump, or a trump- 
brick. I could see it in his back. But you donT dis- 
play the slightest curiosity as to where you live.” 

And having adjusted Everard’s mother to her entire 
satisfaction, Thersie tied her own vail rigidly across 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


3o 


the tip end of a very saucy and independent-looking 
jiose, and proposed that they should move on. 

“ I was thinking I knew better than you could tell 
me, and better than I intended to tell you. It is a 
beastly hole — a regular bachelor’s den. Just the sort of 
surroundings that enable a fellow to sing, with feeling, 
^ I would not live alway,”’ Everard answered, falling in 
with her merry mood, but showing no inclination to 
pilot them to his bachelor’s den. 

We have changed all that,” says Thersie. Tell 
him. Mother Ballantyne.” 

And she sauntered slowly on in advance, Avhile 
Everard’s mother made her explanation with the de- 
liberation of old age. 

‘ ^ Of course, laddie, you knew I could not live ajwt 
from you,” she began, as if bespeaking a patient hearing 
for her tale, ‘'^and so I told Frederic and Emily and 
Thersie as soon as you left us. Frederic tried to dis- 
suade me, but Thersie said I was right, and Thersie is 
always right herself. So the dear child has been help- 
ing me all this week to find pleasant rooms for you and 
me. It was no easy thing to suit us, for I had to have 
a room on the first floor — my legs are not what they used 
to be — and of course we wanted to get a place as con- 
venient as possible to your place of business, and it must 
be of established reputation for gentility, and not too 
high-priced; and that dear child has trotted and talked 
and argued for me — I’m not the business woman I used 
to be, son — until at last we stumbled into a highly- 
respectable boarding-house kept by an old schoolmate of 
my own, who is in reduced circumstances. That settled 
it. I knew where Mary Agnew was mistress everything 
was compelled to be highly genteel. My luggage is al- 
ready there, and Thersie, the dear thing, has helped to 
make it look home-like already, bringing pictures and 
vases and flowers of her own, to make me think of her 
all the time, she says; as if one could forget Thersie!” 

Everard’s face did not reflect the entire satisfaction 
that this arrangement afforded his mother. 

‘^^Are you quite siw’e you have done well in quitting 


34 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Fredas house, mother? You know I am a moneyless 
vagabond, here on trial and a very small salary, liable to 
get kicked out at the very first slip, for Davenport is a 
perfect martinet with his fellows. I can't begin to make 
you as comfortable as you were at Fred's." 

The mother's trembling hand was. laid deprecatingly 
on his arm. 

But I will be with you, my boy. I won't cost you 
a cent, Everard. You know I have my portion. I 
shan't be any more trouble than I can possibly help. I 
do sometimes have neuralgic and nervous spells. I'm 
not the woman I used to be, but there's the advantage 
of being at Mary Agnew's. We've been good friends 
for half a century. If it had not been the right thing 
for me to do, Thersie never would have helped me to 
do it." 

Of course it is the right thing for her to do," says 
Thersie, wheeling suddenly upon them and warning him 
from further resistance by a reproachful glance, and I 
deserve an immense amount of credit for doing what I 
have done, for what with Fred's absorption in business, 
and Emily's in her house and herself and her Emile, 
Mother Ballantyne has been the greatest comfort of my 
life, and I shall miss her horribly." 

Thank you, dearie, for saying so. But I'm not the 
companion I used to be. And you know you have 
promised to come to see me very often." 

At this .juncture Mr. Davenport, feeling probably that 
he had expatriated himself as long as the requirements 
of politeness or delicacy demanded, reached the group 
just as they were emerging from the office, in time to 
hear Thersie say, with sweet impressiveness, “I cannot 
give you up." 

And Everard Ballantyne turned with the brightest 
face he had ever worn in his master's presence, formally 
to introduce his mother and his friend — Miss Gordon. 

Impulsively putting her hand into his, Thersie looked 
into the grave, rather hard face of the merchant, with 
fearless eyes as she apologized for their lengthy inter- 
view, and the touch of that soft, warm hand, the frank 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


35 


gaze? of the girFs big innocent eyes> and the sweet tones 
of her clear young voice abode Avith the silent man of 
business for many a long, long day. 

^^And now I am going home,^^ she said, with resolu- 
tion, as the three paused in front of Mrs. Agnew^s 
orange-embowered home. Emily is ahvays irritably 
alive to my absence from home, while thoroughly in- 
different to my presence. Concerning that sister of 
mine, Mr. Ballantyne, will you let me say a few words; 
I know that she has painfully exaggerated scruples upon 
certain subjects. I know she can give people what she 
calls a Apiece of her mind ^ Avitli exasperating plainness. 
I do not know, however, what has brought things to such 
a sudden crisis at home. But that is past discussion. 
According to my view of the case. Mamma Ballantyne 
is bearing the brunt of this new trouble. You and Fred 
are all she has in the world, and so I would like you to 
regard it as a filial obligation to avoid widening the 
breach already made. And you must not think Emily 
has no feeling. She feels this very matter most keenly. 
In fact, she has been more nervous and irritable and al- 
together unbalanced since you left the house, than I 
have ever known her. As for you and me,^^ she smiled 
brightly, and held out her hand, friends through thick 
and thin.” 

As the brisk click-clack of her little boot heels grew 
faint in the distance, Mrs. Ballantyne, Avhose eyes had 
followed her, with wistful affection, turned to Everard, 
and said: 

Oh, son, if you only could — how happy I should be. 
She is not a bit like Emily.” 

Is it positively ascertained that I could not?” he 
asked, a trifle conceitedly. 

^^Oh, lam quite sure,” Mamma Ballantyne answers, 
paradoxically, that if Thersie cared anything for you 
she would not show any interest at all in you.” 

Which proved the mothers knowledge of her oAvn sex 
to be quite Avhat it used to be. 


36 


TRUJi: TO HERSELF. 


CHAPTEE IV. 

ADMITTED TO MEMBEKSHIP. 

Y OU SEE, my son,^'’ the mother resumed, with 
cheerful loquacity, settling herself, with a sigh of 
relief, into a big, chintz-covered armchair in her own 
room, after having made Everard acquainted with his 
new apartments, ^^this house of Mary Agnews’s is not at 
all like the ordinary run of private hoarding-houses. It 
is so thoroughly respectable — in fact, rather inclined to 
exclusiveness than otherwise. One is quite sure of meet- 
ing no one at her table whom one need to fear to recog- 
nize on the street. Thersie lunched with me here yes- 
terday, and she thinks them a real nice set. Tliis 
house was Mary Agnew’s city residence before the war. 

‘ The Agnews were sugar-planters, and spent a consider- 
able portion of their time on the plantation; but as soon 
as the grinding season was over they would move up to 
this place. All those orange-trees around the yard were 
planted by poor Mr. Agnew^s own hands. Poor Mary! 
Her position in society is not what it used to be, but no 
reverses of fortune could ever make her anything but a 
true woman and a refined lady. She is very particular 
about whom she lets her rooms to, and, in fact, she de- 
murred someAvhat ter taking you, as she was not in the 
liabit of admitting single gentlemen, you know. She 
says to me, Margaret ^ — she and I were schoolmates, 
son — ‘young men are so apt to be irregular in their 
habits. Must have their night-keys, are subject to 
headaches of mornings, need extra attention and all that 
sort of thing, and my boarders are such a sedate, thor- 
oughly respectable set of people that I do not care to 
jeopardize the quietness of our little circle. But as it is 
your son, and you are to board here with him, I must 
make an exception in Ids favor. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


37 


"" I suppose I ought to feel deeply grateful/’ Everard 
says, sarcastically; but, I say, mother, if you have gone 
and bound me over to any Sunday-school regulations, 
you may as well tell me now, and save me the trouble of 
moving my traps from the old quarters; for I am not to 
be driven into a little Jack Horner corner by Mrs. Agnew 
nor the whole of her thoroughly respectable lot.” 

^^Son, I have bound you to nothing. I told Mary 
Agnew that you were a gentleman, and I hoped she would 
find no cause to repent making an exception in your 
favor. But, Everard, I could not stay at Emily’s after 
she had closed her doors on you. It is her house, and 
she is undoubtedly mistress of everybody in it. I have 
not much to complain of in her treatment of me, for 
Emily is a lady; but I wanted to be with you, my boy, 
and I hope you are not sorry for what I have done. I’m 
sure I don’t want to be a burden on any of my children, 
tliough I know I’m not the woman I used to be.” 

Seeing that tears were imminent, Everard hastily kissed 
his mother, and assured her with fervor that he reall}^ 
was happy to have her with him. 

^^But, indeed, now,” he added, ^‘1 must be getting 
back down-town. What hours am I expected to keep, 
now that I have been admitted to membership in this 
thoroughly respectable establishment?” 

Breakfast at eight, luncheon at one, dinner at five.” 

All right. Then good-by until five. I’ll be on hand 
in time to be fed with the rest of the menagerie. How 
many does the caravan contain at present?” he paused to 
ask, hat in hand. 

'^Let me see,” said Mother Ballantyne, beginning to 
tell them off briskly on her fingers, evidently delighted 
at even this slight display of interest in his surroundings. 

Oh, they are all first-class people! There’s old Judge 
Norment and his wife, who has been Governor, and Judge 
of the Supreme Court, and Member of Congress.” 

His wife?” 

^^You bad boy! — no himself. He is very, very old 
now, and so is she; and he is quite deaf, and slie has a 
most terrible cough; but they are the very best sort of 


38 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 

people, and having plenty of money and no children, 
they prefer life in New Orleans to vegetation on the 
plantation/^ 

A highly interesting couple. Next/^ 

^^Well, there^s Mr. and Mrs. Fredericsen — another 
staid, childless couple. In fact, Mary Agnew tries to 
exclude children as much as possible. Mr. Fredericsen 
is an old-established city man — an excellent creature; 
has a Bible-class in the ^ First Baptist,^ and, if I am not 
mistaken, is one of the trustees of Saint Anna’s Home. 
I know his wife is one of the lady directresses of the 
Seventh Street Orphan Asylum.” 

Humph! livelier still! Then who? No danger of 
one’s morals being corrupted.” 

Well, there’s a young bridal couple, not out of their 
honeymoon yet. Of course, they don’t count for much 
in a social way. And a stock-broker — Boudoin by name; 
Thersie called him Quilp, and I am afraid his wife does 
look rather too subdued to be really happy. And a Miss 
McAfee. I suspect she is an old maid. She is very 
lively and chatty, not at all handsome, hut a good crea- 
ture. I am quite sure Thersie told me that I must 
protect you from her snares. Of course, the dear child 
was only jesting. I should he sorry to think my son 
needed to be put on his guard against any woman who 
wears false teeth and a number four shoe.” 

"^Is that all?” 

No. There is a Mrs. Butler. Just the brightest, 
liveliest, most charming creature imaginable. She 
comes of an old historical family of Virginia, or South 
Carolina, or Oeorgia; for the life of me I cannot just 
exactly remember which.” 

A widow?” Everard asks, brightening perceptibly. 

Indeed, no! The adoring and adored wife of a sea- 
captain who plies between this port and Liverpool. 
Mary Agnew says he is just as charming in his way as 
she IS in hers. Of course, he is only here at rare inter- 
vals.” 

Does that fill all the cages?” 

^‘"All but one or two. There is a doctor’s widow, 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


39 


whom I have not seen, and the one room left is bespoken 
for a young girl from the upper parishes, who is to spend 
the winter here, to he finished in music and French. 
Mary Agnew says she is very rich. She is looked for 
next week. I did hear her name, but have forgotten it. 
Dear me, my memory is not what it used to he.'’^ 
Certainly a clean manifest. Once more, by-by.'’^ 


The atmosphere of Mrs. Agnew^s highly respectable 
boarding-house was thick with floating rumors, true and 
false, concerning the latest arrivals. 

As is the rule in all those houses where people are 
congregated together, who have no interest in common, 
no active employments, no home industries to fill up 
the empty hours, all their surplus vitality was expended 
in idle conjectures concerning their fellow-creatures. 

''The Ballantynes were &otch; anybody could tell 
that from the name, and the founder of the family on 
this side of the W'ater had begun life as a market- 
gardener.^'’ 

" The Ballantyne^s were English, and could climb 
their genealogical tree with the agile assurance of people 
sprung from a sure enough lord. Any one who had ever 
heard of Miss Emily Gordon, one of the proudest belles 
of Esplanade Street, knew she never would have married 
into a family whose blood was not of the bluest blue.” 

"They were rich! Nobody ever heard of a poor 
Ballantyne.” 

" They were poor. This particular Ballantyne was a 
regular black sheep, who, having dissipated his own 
fortune, was now living ofi his poor old mother's por- 
tion.” 

" Oh, no! He was a little wild at one time. But he 
had reformed in order to secure the hand of that pretty 
Miss Gordon who had lunched with his mother the day 
before, and he had joined the Episcopal Church, as a 
sort of guarantee of good conduct.” 

" In fact, it was not until Mrs. Agnew had ascertained 
the last mentioned fact that she would consent to receive 
him.” 


40 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Mrs. Agnew, portly, handsome, courteous in her man- 
ners, had remained discreetly oblivious of these buzzing 
comments, as they circulated around her luncheon-table 
(from which Mrs. Ballantyne had absented herself on 
the plea of fatigue) until her own course came under dis- 
cussion, wh€n she interrupted them in a gentle, far- 
reaching voice: 

‘^Indeed, dear ladies, you give me more credit for 
precaution than is justly my due. As for Everard 
Ballantyne, I know very little about him personally. 
He is decidedly handsome, very young, very gentle- 
manly, and I take it for granted, well educated. His 
mother was a very dear friend of mine when we were 
both schoolgirls, and when she came to me yesterday 
and explained her anxiety to keep near her youngest 
son, who, she tells me, has lately met with some re- 
verses of fortune, I waived my prejudices against single 
gentlemen as boarders, and consented to take him. I 
feel quite sure that Mr. Ballantyne wdll not prove either 
a disagreeable or dangerous addition to our circle, unless, 
indeed, his fine eyes should destroy Miss McAfee^s peace 
of mind. To her I will simply say, prenez garde.” 

The roseate hue which overspread the spinster’s face 
deepened into a purplish carnation that flooded her brow, 
ears, nose, chin and neck, but was in no way indicative 
of resentment. 

Whatever others might think, she did not consider it 
as at all impossible or even improbable, that she might 
yet effect a desirable exchange of names and hearts with 
some member of the other sex endowed with penetra- 
tion enough to appreciate her true worth and her ten 
thousand dollars in bank. So she smiled forgiveness 
upon Mrs. Agnew, and with renewed energy attacked 
her luncheon. 

Mrs. Butler, Mrs. Agnew’s pet boarder, sat close at 
her elbow, and it was often due to the sudden and mis- 
chievous comments of this lady upon her neighbors that 
Mrs. Agnew would be thrown so nearly off her equili- 
brium as to find it necessary to turn upon Jenny, the 
unfortunate girl who waited upon the table, with abrupt 
commands to do impossible and bewildering things, 


mm TO HERSELF. 


41 


Poor Jenny! slie was spending her life in the vain 
endeavor to acquire the gift of ubiquity and to re- 
member the various idiosyncrasies of the various sets of 
digestive organs that came under her jurisdiction. Try- 
ing to score them so ineffaceably upon the blurred tab- 
lets of her memory that they should have to be smeared 
out with an effort, wlien fresh arrivals or occasional de- 
partures necessitated a fi’esh scoring. 

It was a matter of vital importance that she should 
bear in mind that Mrs. Butler took two and a half 
spoonsful of sugar in her coffee, and Miss McAfee took 
only three-fourths of a spoonful; that the purblind 
judge must always have the window-shade in front of 
his seat drawn down to the first row of panes in the 
lower sash, and that the doctor^s widow could not 
breathe unless the window at her back was raised exactly 
nine indies; that tlie little wife of the ex-judge,” ex- 
governor and ex-congressman would disdainfully refuse 
to eat any breakfast if her eggs were not boiled to a 
fraction of perfection, and that Mr. Quilp would glare at 
her until she hadnT an idea left if he were not helped 
before every one else and permitted to go about his busi- 
ness. Indeed, if Jenny had not been a good Catholic, 
and consequently enabled periodically to cast the burden 
of her sins of omission and commission upon the shoul- 
ders of a material and visible comforter, she must have 
sunk under the weight of them. 

Hence it was not really owing to any shortcoming of 
her own that Jenny was suddenly and peremptorily 
bidden to hand the plantains around, although she had 
but that moment finished the circuit of the table with 
that specified delicacy, but because Mrs. Butler, with the 
most innocent face in the world, apparently bent upon 
buttering a piece of toast with fastidious exactness, had 
just muttered into Mrs. Agnew^s ears: 

^^The knife is mightier than the fork. What a pity 
young men cannot be brought to terms with that 
weapon. The McAfee can, with perfect impunity, 
really perform the celebrated juggler's miracle of swal- 
lowing a knife." 


42 


TRUE TO HEBSELJ^. 


And Jenny had to suffer for it. 

It was into this irreproachable circle that Everard 
Ballantyne was admitted at five-o^clock dinner. 

He entered the dining-room with the air of an un- 
crowned prince, his little, faded mother clinging proudly 
and affectionately to his arm. 

It was with comical dismay that the young man noted 
three significant facts: The total absence of the young- 
lady element; the total absence of the young man ele- 
ment; the alarming probability that he would be taken 
for a class representative, and feats of obligingness and 
entertainment and news-mongering would be demanded 
of him that he revolted at in advance. 

All the same, he bore the battery of inquisitive 
glances with unflinching fortitude, and even fell to dis- 
cussing, with easy grace and cordiality, the political on 
dits of the day with Judge Norwent. 

Mother Ballantyne glanced around the circle, as if 
challenging any one and every one to acknowledge they 
had never met his equal before. 

Mrs. Agnew mentally flattered herself that the new 
boarders would not lower the standard of her house for 
gentility. 

Jenny wondered if the new man was going to be a 

crank about his victuals. 

Miss McAfee wondered if he liked Byron or Shake- 
speare best.^' 

And he wondered how long he could possibly stand it 
all without kicking out of traces."^ 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


43 


CHAPTER V. 

THE LADY AHD THE LAWYER. 

A lthough Miss Gordon^s statement to the 
Ballantyne^s that her sister was always irritably 
alive to her absences from home was, as a rule, correct, 
on the particular morning in question it was rather a 
source of satisfaction than otherwise for Mrs. Frederic to 
know that the several members of her diminished house- 
hold were well out of the way temporarily. 

Thersie might have bestowed her company on whom- 
soever she chose without risk of one word of reproach or 
remonstrance from her sister, who had, in reality, been 
more of a mother than a sister to her ever since their 
double orphanage, when she was but six or seven years 
old, and Mrs. Frederic was a young lady in society. 

Mrs. Ballantyne^s lawyer had sent her a very signifi- 
cant communication the evening previous, in which, 
with rather dictatorial assurance, he had appointed the 
day and hour for ^‘^a serious consultation touching 
business matters which would brook no longer neglect,^' 
and feeling very sure that sufficient unto that day would 
prove the evil thereof, she had no surplus anxiety to 
spend upon Thersie ’s movements. 

As the lady sat alone in her handsome library, await- 
ing the coming of the lawyer, she made pretense of com- 
posure and of industry with a pair of long white ivory 
needles and a huge ball of soft crimson wool, that she 
was rapidly fashioning into something pretty for Thersie^s 
pretty head. 

But she looked worn and pale, and there was a wistful 
anxiety in the beautiful eyes that strayed very often 
from the work on her lap toward the birdcage hung in 


44 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


the open window, where her bullfinch was almost burst- 
ing his little throat with wild, glad melodies. 

She envied the tiny prisoner its joyous freedom from 
cankering care. 

She felt morally certain that the business matters 
which would brook no longer neglect would have no 
bearing on the usual business she and her lawyer dis- 
cussed periodically — such as annual statements, bank 
balances, advance in real estate, desirable investments, 
and like matters of interest between a moneyed woman, 
who prided herself on her business talents, and the at- 
torney, who was in some sense her general agent. 

The Gordon-Ballantyne marriage had not been purely 
a love affair. It had been helped on and urged on by 
mercenary fathers on both sides, with an eye more to the 
consolidation of two fine fortunes than the union of two 
tender hearts, and as such had been only a partial suc- 
cess, the young lady in the question suddenly and unex- 
pectedly developing business capacities and independent 
characteristics that would have been the making of half 
a dozen business men. 

However, it had proven an undeniable social success, 
and was productive, in the long run, of as much placid 
satisfaction as is the outcome of nine-tenths of the mat- 
rimonial ventures in this uncertain world of ours. 

Once in her life Emily Ballantyne had purposely and 
consciously, swerved from the path of rectitude. 

Opportunity had offered, and ambition — that sin by 
which the angels fell — had proven too strong for the 
bulwarks of righteousness that she had builded with 
care and cemented with moral precepts through all the 
blameless years that had gone before. 

Until a recent day, the day on which Everard Ballan- 
tyne had listened to the reading of the will which de- 
prived him of all interest in his father^s estate, and still 
further enriched his elder brother, she had believed that 
her sin was known to her God and herself only. 

Strange! but then it had not seemed so heinous. In 
fact — so can we play the sophist with conscience — she 
had argued herself into the belief that her act would be 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


45 


the making rather than the marring of her young 
brother-in-law. 

As a moneyed man, Everard Ballantyne had been 
nothing but a spendthrift and a fast man about town. 
Thrown on his own resources he could not afford to go 
to the dogs. The imperatiYe demand for exertion on 
his part would develop [ill the latent manliness of his 
nature. Driven on by the spur of necessity he might 
eventually rise to heights that he would never even 
aspire to while enervated by luxury, his conscience lulled 
to sleep by the siren voice of flattery, and his intellect 
held in durance vile to a dissipated body. And, of 
course, she would see that he never really wanted for 
anything. 

After all, what had she done but so managed it that 
things should remain just exactly as his father had or- 
dained them when in good health and in perfect posses- 
sion of all his mental faculties he had written that 
codicil? Was it her fault that Everard had so outraged 
that hither years before as to cause the writing of that 
codicil? She could not deny to herself that she had 
taken excellent care that every aggravating circumstance 
of the boy’s escapades should come to the father’s ears; 
but he deserved it richly. And then, was not her first 
duty in life to her own son? Money was power. Emile 
could not have too much to assist him in the lofty fights 
to which maternal pride had pre-ordained him. 

In fact, numerous and various had been the anodynes 
with which she had lulled her conscience into semi- 
oblivion, until the rude awakening she had received in 
the insolent glance of her lawyer’s keen eye, even before 
he had explained to her, with ironical magnanimity, the 
mistake she had made in executing her first piece of 
villainy. Since when the sin she had committed had 
grown into enormity, and increased in blackness until it 
had blotted the very sunshine from her pathway, and 
mingled a drop of gall with every sweet of life. 

She had erred! And this man who was coming to her 
this morning — this coarse, low, cunning man of dollars, 
this man with neither the heart to pity her nor the gen- 


46 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


erosity to spare her — knew all about it! Knew it, and 
was going to reap some personal advantage from his 
knowledge! 

How he knew it, she had yet to learn. Apparently he 
had wrested the secret of her wrong-doing from the dead. 
Knew it, and had purposely kept her in suspense as to 
what use he intended making of his knowledge. 

That he would disgrace her publicly she did not fear. 
Every dictate of self-interest and of policy would urge 
against such a proceeding. Moreover, the only fitting 
occasion for that had been allowed to pass by, and to do 
it now might lead to an investigation that would involve 
him — the lawyer — in some awkward explanations. 

But knowing the man as well as she did, she feared it 
was more than probable that he would demand such 
terms of her as should render voluntary confession the 
lesser of two evils. Confession! she, who had tacitly 
claimed a moral supremacy over them all for haughty 
pride, spotless integrity, irreproachable rectitude to cry 
‘‘PeccaviF^ to the husband she had not submitted 
herself to !” 

She to bow her haughty head in abasement before the 
lad whose youthful shortcomings she had visited with 
such cruel censure and punished with exile, and acknowl- 
edge herself no better than a common forger, a swindler, 
a thief who had robbed him of his inheritance! She! be 
compelled to acknowledge to that meek-browed mother- 
in-law, who had never questioned her supremacy, that 
she had sinned against Heaven and against her! To feel 
that she was not worthy to touch the hem of Thersie’s 
garment! — pure, gentle, sinless Thersie, whom she had 
domineered over and held to such strict account for the 
tiniest girlish peccadillo! To feel that the young son, 
for whose sake she had wrought all this misery for herself 
and others, would turn from her in horror and disgust 
if only he knew! 

Could she do it? She had been allowed a whole month 
to review her situation in all its bearings. Dark forbod- 
ings had become her familiars. Horrible possibilities 
had presented themselves before her at every turn. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


47 


Corroding anxiety had plowed deep and sudden wrinkles 
on her smooth, broad brow. Sickening suspense had 
painted black circles about her beautiful eyes. The 
haughty curves of her thin lips had taken a downward 
droop. The proud poise of her head that had seemed 
but the outward sign of her invincible moral rectitude 
was no longer so offensively noticeable. Emily was 
drooping/^ they all said, in speaking of her, ^^she had 
not been herself since that morning. 

No! nor would she ever be again. 

Mr. Phillips was scarcely a moment behind the time 
appointed for his interview, nor was he long in coming 
straight to the subject matter of that interview. 

We are all alone, eh, dear?^^ he asked, with insolent 
freedom. No offense! Fve dandled you on my knee 
scores of times in this very room when papa and mamma 
Gordon were alive and you were a wee, sweet innocent, 
in short frocks and blue ribbons. Dear, dear, how time 
does fly! to be sure!^^ During which monologue the 
lawyer had been bustling around carefully and cautiously 
examining the various outlets to the library. 

We are entirely alone, said Mrs. Ballantyne, with 
icy composure. Sir. Ballantyne is at his office, Emile 

is at school, and Thersie 

Is with mother-in-law B and the exile. I saw 

all three of them getting into a Magazine Street car as I 
passed Clay^s statue on my way down here. Permit nae 
to say, Mrs. Frederic, that your sisteFs name is likely to 
be coupled pretty freely with that young rakers. 

will speak to her,'’^ said Emily, with strange meek- 
ness. I do not like it myself. Thersie is too sympa- 
thetic. She is only sorry for Everard. 

^^By far, by far too sympathetic! Especially when a 
handsome young scamp is the object of her effusive sym- 
pathy. Apart from the interest I must always take in 
your father’s children, Thersie has lately become an ob- 
ject of especial solicitude to me.^^ 

I do not understand you.” 

No! Then to make my meaning clear, we must be- 
gin at the beginning of a very long story.” 


48 


TRUE TO IIER8ELP. 


Saying wliich the lawyer dropped into an armchair 
facing the lady, with more force than elegance, flung his 
right leg airily over his left, brought the tips of all his 
right-hand fingers to bear exactly upon the left-hand 
tips, supporting his legal elbows comfortably on the 
chair’s padded elbows, and began at the beginning of a 
very long story, with his small, cunning gray eyes fixed 
meditatively upon the handsome frescoes that surrounded 
the library chandelier. 

For which small mercy his victim inwardly thanked 
him. i 

When I was called in the other day to assist in the 
domestic drama of The Disinherited,’ Mrs. Frederic,” 
he began, ^^your husband, in explaining matters fully 
to his brother, remarked that ‘ it would have made no 
difference in the outcome if Cochrane, instead of my- 
self, had been with their father in his last moments, as 
the old gentleman was speechless when I arrived. (By 
the way, that young man has conceived the most extra- 
ordinary antipathy to me.) Ko doubt Mr. Frederic 
made that statement in good faith. Your husband, my 
dear, is a man saiis reproche, but he erred — to err is 
human; we are all liable to el’r at times, even you and 
I. Now, Cochrane had seen your lamented father-in- 
law a week before that terrible accident befel him at the 
plantation, at which time the old gentleman informed 
him that he was coming up to town soon to consult with 
Frederic about that codicil, remarking that he could no 
longer withstand his wife’s importunities. She w^as 
fretting her life and his away about that boy, and if 
any means could be contrived to keep the boy from 
squandering the principal while drinking up the in- 
terest of his money, he supposed he would have to let 
him go to the devil at his own mad gait. 

‘^Now, you see, if Cochrane had been summoned in 
my stead (but unfortunately he was attending a Bar 
dinner at the Lake when your messenger reached our 
office), he would, most j^robably, knowing the old gen- 
tleman’s condition and his wishes, have brought the 
will with him, so that by a nod of his head or a glance 


IRUE TO IIFAISELK 


4 !) 


of his eye in response to a few well-directed questions 
on Cochrane^s part, the dying man could have made 
things as right and tight as could be; a pantomime be- 
tween the two would have wiped out that obnoxious 
clause, leaving the original will in full force, and to-day, 
instead of being a poor clerk in a commission house, 
Everard Ballantyne would have been one of the wealthi- 
est beaux and best catches about town. Cochrane has 
never ceased to lament bitterly that he was not on hand. 
He has a most unaccountable liking for that young 
scamp. So much for the first act in the drama. 

'^Now, then, my dear madam, let us rehearse your 
role as leading lady in ‘ The Disinherited.^ 

For a second the lawyer’s cold gray eyes dropped from 
the frescoes of the ceiling, to. search the pale, passionless 
face before him, with hands slightly folded over the gay 
wools in her lap, with grave, attentive eyes she was 
giving him her undivided attention. 

Dem’d if I’m not lost in admiration of your cool- 
ness, considering, as I said before, this must have been 
your first venture in that line.” 

‘‘ Go on, please. The morning is slipping away,” she 
said, coldly: 

‘‘To be sure — to be sure! And we don’t care about 
taking Mr. Ballantyne, or Emile or Thersie either, into 
our confidence — do we? You will remember, then, that 
you sent Felix after me. We returned together. He 
brought the coupe for me. 

“It is my habit to improve every opportunity for 
gaining information concerning people and things. 
Socrates gives the palm for intelligence to the man who 
asks the most questions. Socrates would have delighted 
in me. We lawyers acquire great and ready skill in the 
Socration virtue of questioning, frequently thereby 
obtaining very valuable information not attainable by 
other means. 

“ Thus I found out from Felix, by a few well-pointed 
questions, that when that railroad accident occurred near 
the city, some one who knew Mr. Ballantyne had 
directed his removal to his son’s residence; that he was 


50 


TRUE TO HER8ELP. 


evidently mortally wounded, that no one was with him 
hut yourself, and that when Felix had been dispatched 
for me, you had given him his orders standing by your 
husband^s writing-desk, from whence you had just taken 
paper, pen, ink and the letter-book. 

Felix was quite sure on that point, for when he 
asked you if he was to wait for a note to me,. you had 
told him hurriedly ^ no,^ to ^ go on/ and yet you left the 
library with those writing materials in your hand. 

I asked him if no physician had been sent for. He 
said, ^No. Ole master had said, when they were totin^ 
him up-stairs, No use for doctors. Fm a dead man. 
I want only Fred and Cochrane,^'' ^ which were the last 
words he had been heard to utter. 

Having previously ascertained the room the dying 
man had been carried to, I dismissed Felix after a doctor 
as soon as he put me down at the door; for you know, 
my dear, while there is life there is hope, and I really 
thought that a physician should be on hand. 

*^^1 readily found my own way up-stairs, for I have 
often partaken of the hospitalities of this roof in your 
dear father’s lifetime. He honored me with his un- 
bounded confidence. It is not my fault, my dear, that 
your excessively thick stair-carpeting muffled the sound 
of my footfalls so completely that, while the sound of 
tearing paper came distinctly to my ears, you apparently 
knew nothing of my approach until I stood by the foot 
of the bed on which Mr. Ballantyne lay, to all appear- 
ances already dead, so ghastly white was his face, so im- 
movable his closed lids. 

You were standing over him, with hands clasped 
tightly over your breast, and your face was so white and 
agitated that it really did credit to your feelings as a 
daughter/’ 

An impatient gesture of the shapely white hands 
showed that this dart had told. 

You whispered to me, in a scared voice, that he was 
dying. I agreed with you, and insisted upon your 
sparing yourself the needless pain of witnessing his 
last struggles. But he might want to say something 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


51 


more/ you objected. ^ He would never speak again this 
side the grave/ I assured you, after which you left will- 
ingly enough. I promised you that I would remain as 
watcher until the arrival of the physician Felix had gone 
for.^^ 

I remember all that/’ Mrs Ballantyne interrupted, 
in a husky voice; why do you recall it so circumstan- 
tially?” 

‘^Tobe sure! to be sure! I doubt if you ever can 
forget it. Harrowing, shocking experience for a daugh- 
ter to pass through unsustained by the loving presence 
of husband, mother or sister! Well, to resume, after 
you had left me, I bent over the dying man and called 
his name very slowly and distinctly and rather loudly 
twice. He gave no signs of life. Slowly and labor- 
iously the last few signs of his life seemed dropping 
through the glass. I held a bottle of strong ammonia 
in close proximity to his nose. It revived him; he 
opened his eyes, gasped, stared at me in a startled way, 
but not as if his mind were gone by any means. 

I poured a few drops of the burnt brandy your care 
had provided down his throat. He swallowed them with 
difficulty. My object was to detain his fleeting senses 
for a brief space if possible. The power of speech was 
evidently gone for ever, but I might yet be able to estab- 
lish an understanding between us by means of nods and 
signs. We lawyers become experts, my dear, in extract- 
ing information, sometimes seemingly from the dead. 

‘^^You wanted to see Cochrane?’ I said, slowly and 
impressively. 

His eyes gave assent. 

^ You wanted something written. I will write it for 
you.’ 

^‘^His eyes roved uneasily about until they rested upon 
the letter-book you had left on the window-sill; it was 
evident he had watched your movements very closely. 

‘ Has Emily written for you?’ I asked again, slowly, 
and distinctly. 

His eyes betokened assent but not satisfaction. 

^ You wanted something written about Everard?’ 


52 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


A gleam of pleasure shot into his fast glazing eyes, 
and by an almost superhuman effort he struggled to his 
elbows, pointed with one palsied hand to the fireplace, . 
and then fell back — dead! 

‘^Ihad been hastily arranging my writing materials. 
They were useless now. I laid the letter-book upon the 
bed and stepped to the fireplace to see if that final tragic 
gesture of his had any meaning. 

‘^Upon the hearth I saw one scrap of freshly torn 
paper that had evidently escajDed when its companion 
scraps had been hastily thrust through the interstices of 
the fancy ironwork screen that fills your grates in sum- 
mer-time. It recalled to me the sound of paper tearing 
that had reached my ears as I approached the room. I 
confess myself nonplused for the space of half a second. 
The idea of guilt in connection with you, Emily Ballan- 
tyne, was an idea of slow growth — very slow indeed ! 

‘^Mechanically 1 returned to the letter-book, and in 
removing the sheet of paper I had placed there in readi- 
ness to take down the directions that death had so sud- 
denly interfered with, I stumbled upon your secret. 

“A'ou had made use of your husband's letter-book. 
He makes use of the carbonized paper which duplicates 
communications with such facility. The scraps of torn 
paper were accounted for ! Your guilt stood revealed I you 
had destroyed your father-in-law's last directions to us, 
Avritten by yourself at his dictation, but the carbonized 
paper gave them back to us. " 

“Us!" almost shrieked the guilty Avoman. 

“Were they not intended for Cochrane & Phillips. 

“Yes; but you have not — oh. Heaven! you cannot 
have 

“Betrayed Wendell Grordon's daughter? No, I have 
not. I could not." 

Thus the laAvyer masked his own premeditated vil- 
lainy under a shoAV of generosity to a dead patron and 
friend. 

“I secured those duplicates. They are still in my 
possession. I resolved, upon mature reflection, that I 
Avas not called upon to explain this matter to my law 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


53 


partner. I could not do so without forever blasting the 
fair fame of a woman who stood high in the estimation 
of all the world, and whose father had been one of my 
very best and truest friends when, as a struggling young 
attorney, I might have easily been snubbed or over- 
looked. I know Cochrane, lie jirides himself on his 
Brutus-like virtue. Nothing would have saved you if 
he had gotten hold of this matter. But while protect- 
ing your fair fame 1 have not been unmindful of the 
other side of the question — the young man’s rights. 
Actually, up to the other day, when I knew the will was 
to be read to him, when Cochrane absolutely refused to 
come in my stead, saying he knew he would stir up 
rebellion in the camp if he did, I was dubious as to what 
course I should pursue.” 

What finally decided you?” 

^^Everard Ballantyne’s own infernal impudence. He 
took especial and successful pains to make me his enemy 
for life the other day. And now his side of the question 
must bide its time. I intend to teach him a lasting 
lesson.” 

IVfrs. Ballantyne drew a long, sobbing sigh and passed 
her hand wearily across her forehead, unmindful of the 
carefully arranged bands of glossy hair that were Ro- 
setta’s chief pride and charge in life. 

Very well,” she said. ^‘^You have convinced me 
that you know everything. What use do you propose to 
make of your information? Not for one moment have 
you deceived me into believing that you propose shield- 
ing A\^endell Gordon’s daughter from harm. Of course, 
you have your price.” 

Self-interest, you know, my dear, is the ruling 
power in human nature. Self-interest nerved yoiu* hand 
when you destroyed that sheet of paper. Self-interest 
guides me through the same channels that it reached 
you — parental affection. You sinned, I make no doubt, 
for Emile’s sake. Certainly that boy of yours vdll have 
plenty, without your jeopardizing your soul’s welfare for 
him.” 

He looked virtuous reproach at her. 


64 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Yes, for Emile^s sake I did it. For his dear sake I 
sinned. Money is power. Emile must and shall be a 
power in the land she said. 

To be sure — to be sure! Oh, the wondrous possibili- 
ties of a mother’s love! I have a son, too, Mrs. Frederic, 
not a handsome boy, like your Emile; not a boy with 
three fortunes ready-made for him, like your Emile; nor 
a bright, ambitious, intellectual boy, like your Emile. 
In fact, all the money and all the assistance in the world 
would never make my boy a ^ power in the land.’ 
Nevertheless, he is my boy, and we parents feel the 
responsibility of providing for our young at any cost, I 
have done everything I could think of to fit my Josiah 
for taking care of himself in the world. I have edu- 
cated him as far as he was cajpable of taking an educa- 
tion; sent him abroad to see if he could gather any ideas 
by absorption or friction; used all my infiuence to get 
him at least started with a paltry clerkship; but all to 
no purpose, and I have finally concluded that Josiah is 
such an unmitigated jackass, that unless I marry him 
off to some girl who has enough to feed herself and him 
on, he will be on my hands until the crack o’ doom. 
But, then again, as my Josiah is as ugly as the Evil One 
himself, it has not been easy, heretofore, to induce any 
girl to have him. So, in reality, Joe’s settlement in life 
has caused me many a sleepless night. I could not 
drown him, as one does supernumerary puppies. 
Society does not sanction such practices this side of the 
Ganges. I could not disown him simply for being a 
fool. I have too much respect for Mrs. Phillips for 
that. But you have come to the rescue, and ha^'^e taken 
Joe off my hands nicely, just as I was beginning to 
despair. ” 

Si 

You. For were it not for the fact that you 'and I 
have a little matter between us that we propose to settle 
without any bother, any scandal, any family rumpus, 
any ugly confessions, any begging of everybody’s pardon, 
any bowing of our pride before those we have looked 
down upon and snubbed systematically, any startling 


TttTJjE TO HERSELiy. 


55 


dinoxiementSf any public whispers, I never could muster 
the courage to ask Theresa Gordon^s hand in marriage 
for my son. As it is I demand it. Thersie is a sweet, 
biddable girl, accustcmed from force of habit to regard 
your wishes as law. The proposition may startle her a 
little at first, but I leave it to you to convince her of the 
desirability of this arrangement. As for Josiah, he, too, 
is sweet and biddable, accustomed from infancy to have 
his opinions made up for him like portable pills. I am 
Josiah^’s proxy. You are Theresa's! Nothing simpler! 
nothing easier! nothing more desirable! nothing, in 
fact!" he added in a tone of masterful command, ^^more 
indispensable to our own amiable relations in the future." 

But Thersie does not even know the young man," 
Theresa's sister objected, vaguely, feeling the imperative 
necessity for saying something. 

They must be introduced." 

^^But can we make her love him?" 

^^Now, see here, Mrs. Ballantyne," her tormentor 
said coarsely, I do not propose to discuss the turtle- 
dove aspect of this arrangement. The puerility of your 
obi^ections under the circumstances amazes me." 

In fact, her weak, commonplace fending had amazed 
herself. 

I simply came here to make terms with you for your 
secret, now in my sole possession. I have proposed my 
terms — the only ones I have to offer. If you have any- 
thing better to propose, I am open to advances. Otherwise 
Cochrane and Mr. Ballantyne — your husband I mean — 
shall have the privilege of settling the matter of those 
duplicates." 

Mrs. Ballantyne rose slowly to her feet. She seemed 
to have grown old and feeble within an hour. All her 
pride of voice and manner was gone as she waved him 
piteously toward the door. 

‘^Go away from me now, please! Give me a little 
time to think. Come back — in a week! Oh, God! how 
true it is that the way of the transgressor is hard ! Ther- 
sie! Thersie! my poor little Thersie!" 


50 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


CHAETER YI. 

A RESURRECTED ROilANCE. 

T he week of grace for which Mr. Ballantjne 
had petitioned and the lawyer had granted soon 
ran its course, and resulted in a coup de main which in- 
dicated that she had fully, finally and irrevocably com- 
mitted herself to the course dictated by the man who 
had gained such sudden but fatal influence with her, 
and that Thersie Gordon was to make vicarious atone- 
ment for the sins of her sister, if that sister^’s cunning 
did not forsake her in preparing her for the sacrifice. 

On the last day of that week Mr. Phillips received the 
following communication through the post-office, in tlie 
same envelope with a richly gotten up card of invita- 
tion for ‘^^Mr. Phillips and family 

•^'My Dear Mr. Phillips^' — his private note said — 
‘^Hhe fourteenth of May is my sister’s birthday, and we 
propose celebrating the hapjoy event in due form. I 
hope you will all find it convenient to attend Thersie’s 
fUe. If not, your son, Mr. Josiah, must certainly 
come. Erom him we will take no excuse.” 

She is getting bridle-wise,” the attorney said softly 
to himself, as he slipped the note back into its envelope. 
‘^Moe’s all right, if the poor fool don’t play thunder with 
his chances.” 

^^Better in a crowd than in any other way,” Mrs. 
Ballantyne had concluded, when finally resolved upon 
bringing her sister and the attorney’s son together. 

But the fourteenth of May was approaching danger- 
ously near, and still she had forhied no definite plan as 
to how the grand final result Avas to be accomplished. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


57 


She was too subtle a tactician to jeopardize all her 
chances of success by clumsy directness or fatal honesty. 

She knew it would prove a slow and difficult under- 
taking to revolutionize all Thersie^s girlishly romantic 
notions about love and respect and affinities as j^reessen- 
tials to matrimony. She must petition her taskmaster 
for time, now that she had acceded to his terms, she 
thought, bitterly. 

Heretofore she had found guiding this young sister 
the pleasantest and easiest of tasks. Thersie’s was such 
a thoroughly happy nature. She was so unselfish, ami- 
able and true-hearted, that she accepted all things, be- 
lieved all things and enjoyed all things with the un- 
doubting acceptance of a little child. In spite of all 
which, her sister was perfectly well aware that there 
were reserves of moral strength and of will power in the 
girFs character that she would not be slow to exercise 
when occasion demanded. 

And she never doubted they would be forthcoming in 
full vigor as soon as Thersie should come to understand 
that she w^as expected to regard Mr. Josiah Phillips in 
the light of a lover and a future husband. 

Small wonder, then, that between the fatal necessity 
for accomplishing this thing and the crushing difficulty 
of accomplishing it, Mrs. Frederic Ballantyne, usually 
the calmest, coldest, the most perfectly poised of mortals — 
physically and mentally — should feel her self-command 
difficult to maintain, and should be guilty of several 
nervous outbreaks that astonished the whole household, 
and alarmed her husband into suggesting a doctor. 

There is nothing the matter with me,^^ she answered, 
irritably, when he made this suggestion for a second or 
third time. But, Thersie, I believe, she added, I 
would like you to stop at home with me this morning. I 
do not always find myself the very best company. I have 
been too much alone of late.^^ 

Certainly, said Thersie, a trifle reluctant, ^^if Fred 
Avill jukt be so good as to go round by Mrs. Agnews’s and 
tell his mother not to look for me. I had promised her 
to 


68 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


^^Mrs. Agnew^s! Mrs. Agnews's forever Mrs. Fred- 
eric interrupts with rude petulance. ^^Has it never oc- 
cured to you, Thersie, that your constant visits to that 
house are decidedly calculated to excite disagreeable 
gossip 

^^It certainly never has/^ Thersie answers, with sur- 
prised eyes. 

You are prepared, then, I presume, to have people 
couple your name with Everard Ballantyne’s, and to say 
that your devotion to the mother is but a cloak for your 
interest in the son?^^ 

I should hate to believe there were many people in 
the world either foolish or malicious enough to think any- 
thing of that kind, Emily. I certainly do feel very sorry 
for old Mrs. Ballantyne. She is very much alone when 
Everard is down-town, for, at their best, people in board- 
ing-houses lead purely selfish lives, nothing in common 
between them but the luncheon-table and the dinner- 
bell. And of evenings if you can help her to keep him 
at home by making things seem a little more like the old 
home we all used to have here together^ when otherwise 
he might wander down-town in search of pleasure or ex- 
citement, I cannot feel as if I v/as doing anything very 
■wrong. Especially, Emily, as I have 'never been able 
quite to justify to myself your course toward him,^^ she 
added, wfith calm defiance. 

^^What do you mean?’^ her sister asked, almost sav- 
agely, and hastily putting down the coffee-pot which she 
had lifted to replenish Mr. Ballantyne^s cup, she eyed 
the girhs fiushed face suspiciously. 

simply mean, said Thersie, steadily,^ that I do 
not think you acted mercifully in closing your doors 
against your husband^s brother. He is very young and not 
steady, and Fred was the only person who dared take him 
to task. Even your icy displeasure was beneficial to him in 
a manner. His mother’s very tenderness for him makes 
her too timid about offending him. I think, sister, you 
would have expected others to be a little more patient if 
Emile had been in question instead of his uncle.” 

I have no fancy for turning my house into an ine- 


mUE TO BERSELE. 


5‘J 

briate asylum/^ Mrs. Ballantyne answers heartlessly, 
and I am really sick and tired of Everard Ballantyne’s 
name. I wish I might never hear it again. 

I think myself, Thersie,^^ Mr. Ballantyne said kindly, 
as he rose from the table, ^^that it would be as well to 
leave the boy^s name and affairs out of our home talks. 
Your sister has acted up to her own notions of duty and 
of right. You may think them too rigid. What I 
think on any subject matters little. You have been 
very good to mother, and I appreciate it from my heart. 
I will make it all right with her this morning. We must 
not let Everard’s affairs embitter our home life. Emily, 
I wish to add one name to the list of your guests for the 
fourteenth, he concluded, as if dismissing Everard and 
his affairs. 

Whose his wife asks with rather languid interest, 
for as this fUe was only the small means to a great end 
the minor particulars of who was to be there, apart from 
Mr. Josiah Phillips, was matter of small moment to the 
giver of the feast. 

Leslie DavenporPs.^^ 

Leslie Davenport's! Why, I thought he had for- 
sworn society! Turned woman-hater! Lived the life of 
a recluse out of business hours, and all that sort of 
thing, since " 

Leslie Davenport is my friend, Emily; a man for 
whom I have the profoundest respect and admiration. 
He took Everard into his house simply because he was 
my brother, and I asked it, for the boy had no business 
qualifications to recommend him. I consider it will be 
highly beneficial to Everard to come in daily contact 
with such a man. It required some urgency on my part 
to prevail upon Davenport to break through his self- 
inflicted isolation from the society of which ho was at 
one time such a bright ornament. But I am glad to say 
I have succeeded, and he has promised to come to my 
house." 

And he is really coming? I must confess to some 
curiosity as to how he looks after all he has gone 
through." 


GO 


TRUF. TO IIER8FLF. 


^^Ile looks splendidly/'’ says Thersie suddenly and 
unguardedly, for that morning call of hers at the office 
of Davenport, Slocumb & Drew had, up to the present 
moment, been a little secret between Mother Ballantyne 
and herself. Emily will scold, she had said; ^^she 
always does if I dare wander off Canal Street. She 
labors under a chronic apprehension of my being kid- 
naped,” after which warning wild horses could not 
have dragged a word from Thersie s allies. 

What do you know about him?” her sister asked in 
cold* surprise, and even her brotlier-in-laws'’s eyes con- 
fessed to some curiosity. 

Well,” said Thersie, lauging a li.ttle nervously. 
Mother Ballantyne and I always have a bag full of 
cats on hand, and I have clumsily let one of our cats 
escape. I suppose you will scold, Emily, although I 
really have done nothing that I am ashamed of. When 
Fred's mother made up her mind that she just must go 
and live somewhere with Everard, I trotted around town 
with her industriously until we found rooms that came 
as near perfection as it is possible for rooms subject to 
human laws and governance to attain unto. Then, the 
dear old lady fearing opposition from the lordly young 
gentleman for whom we had been exerting ourselves to 
the point of exhaustion, pleaded with me to stand by 
her until we had caught our hare after setting our trap, 
which I did, and which necessitated our going to the 
commission house where we knew he Avas employed, 
which resulted in my seeing and being introduced to 
your Mr. Leslie Davenport, whom I immediately pro- 
nounced ^perfectly splendid!^ even before I kneAV there 
Avas the halo of a romantic mystery enveloping him, 
since Avhen I pronounce him simply adorable!” 

But Emily, contrary to prophesy, did not scold.” 
She had forfeited all right to sit in judgment upon the 
girks spirited independence, which, hitherto, had often 
met Avith severe and undeserved rebuke at her hands. 

Mr. Ballantyne smiled indulgently as she finished her 
narrative, and Avent his way. Emily simply said: 

‘ ^ I do not think you Avere exactly called upon to go so 


TRUE TO HERSELF. Cl 

far, Thersie?’" Then, with sudden energy, she added: 
‘^Theresa, are you in love with Everard Ballantyne 

^‘^In love with him?” Theresa repeats, scarcely know- 
ing whether to be indignant or amused. Emily, I 
really have erred in always thinking you were a woman 
of extraordinary good sense and penetration. ” 

And yeti have sufficient penetration to note your 
evasion of a direct ^ Yes or Eo.^^” 

evade nothing!” the girl said, proudly. '^Yo! I 
am no more in love with your brother-in-law than I am 
with your son. I pity him. But while I can readily 
see how pity can be akin to contempt, I could never 
trace its kinship with love. I do love and respect and 
sympathize with his old mother. Mamma Ballantyne 
has been very good to me ever since she came to live 
with you and Fred. And I intend to give her all the 
aid she asks and I can render in keeping Everard in the 
way he should go. ETow, then, have I defined my posi- 
tion with sufficient exactness?” 

“'You have. But I feel called upon to give you one 
warning on that subject. You have always been charac- 
terized by a spirit of self-abnegation, which, in your 
desire to aid others, make you lose sight of your own 
position as it appears to outsiders. You are a little 
mortal, with rather fanciful notions about doing good, 
and woman^’s mission, and all that sort of thing. The 
role of guardian angel to a fast young man about town 
is not by any means the safest one for a young girl to 
attempt to play in this censorious world. You cannot 
do it with impunity unless you will first purge this 
wicked, malicious world of ours of hatred, malice and 
all uncharitableness. In fact, Theresa, I think — this 
quite as if it were a suddenly conceived idea — “ the best 
thing I can do for your own future happiness and the 
credit of the family, will be to marry you off as quickly 
as possible to some steady, responsible, respectable mem- 
ber of society.” 

“Thanks! Is the steady, responsible, respectable 
member of society already elected?” Theresa asks, 
carelessly, rejoiced at the sudden termination of what 




TRUE TO IIERSELE, 


she feared was to have been one of Emily^s long and 
in'osy lectures about her sins of omission and commis- 
sion. 

Here was her opening. But Mrs. Ballantyne was no 
such clumsy operator as to startle her victim with an un- 
expected Yes/^ after which Mr. Josiah Phillips would 
have to be dragged into premature prominence. So she 
only said: 

‘^1 suppose it would be no such difficult task to find 
such a man even in this Sodom. 

^‘1 am afraid it would, without such unattainable aids 
as the gift of second sight, a divining rod, or Diogenes^ 
lantern,"-’ says the object of all this sisterly solicitude, 
puckering her pretty brows up with mock anxiety. At 
least, I shan"t be so selfish and inconsiderate, Emily, as 
to start you out in such a search. I shall do very well, I 
think, for half a century to come without my ^S., E. 
E." member of society.-’" Adding, But all this while I 
am consumed with curiosity to know why Fred"s friend, 
Mr. Davenport, should have forsworn society, turned 
woman-hater, and lived the life of a recluse. Do tell 
me who did what to him?"" 

Oh, Leslie Davenport’s romance," as you may call 
it, I suppose, is such an old story that it is entirely for- 
gotten by society, and would have been by me, I suppose, 
had it not been that Mr. Ballantyne seemed at the time 
to take his friend"s trouble so much to heart. It all hap- 
pened just about the time I was married. You were at 
boarding-school then, you remember. Mr. Davenport’s 
mother was a widow, and she was the manager of his 
property — plantations in one of the coast parishes. She 
used to spend a good deal of her time here with a married 
sister, who moved in very gay society. While Leslie 
was at Yale College^ where he and my husband spent 
four years together and contracted their lifelong affection 
for each other, his mother met and married a dashing 
Cuban adventurer, who died within a year, leaving her 
with his daughter to take care of and support. This 
girl was simply a miracle of beauty. Even we girls were 
infatuated with her exquisite Spanish airs and graces. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


63 


Her father was a Cuban and her mother a New Orleans 
woman. She simply set New Orleans wild. Small won- 
der, then, that when her stepmother’s son returned, he, 
too, fell her victim, thrown as he was into daily contact 
with her bewitching face and form. Of course they got 
married. It is said his mother violently opposed the 
match, and that when she found she could not pre- 
vent it she retired to her plantation to live, and has 
never been known to visit New Orleans since the day of 
her son’s marriage. He fitted up a perfectly superb 
home for his bride. I will show you the house some of 
these days when we go driving. For not over six 
months Mr. Davenport’s dashing style, Mrs. Davenport’s 
princely hospitality, her entertainments, her equipages, 
her jewels, delighted and amazed the city; then, all of a 
sudden, the brilliant mansion was shut up, and it was 
said the Davenports were traveling in Europe. No one 
will ever know what it all meant. But only three 
months later Mr. Davenport returned to New Orleans 
alone. He took his old place in business circles, but the 
up-town house has never been reopened. Whether his 
wife died while they were away no one knows. He has 
never been heard to mention her name. He has shunned 
society, without playing the misanthrope when accident- 
ally forced into it. Of course, ten thousand tongues 
wagged about him and his affairs for some time after, 
until a new sensation wiped the Davenport scandal off 
Rumor’s bulletin-board, since when Leslie Davenport’s 
name has scarcely even been heard out of Carondelet 
Street. I have never met him face to face since he left 
for that European trip which ended so mysteriously, but, 
of course, I feel some curiosity about him.” 

Silence fell between the two sisters, and lasted so long 
that Mrs. Ballantyne’s mind had wandered far away 
from the half-forgotten romance she had just been re- 
surrecting for Thersie’s benefit — wandered off to her 
own secret burden, and to the dark labyrinth of deceit 
and falsehood she had yet to tread, with no clue to lead 
her back to peace and light, when she was brought back 
to her surroundings by Thersie’s saying, softly and pity- 


64 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Perhaps she died away off yonder, and he loved her 
so, he could never bring himself to mention her name. 
I can almost fancy him loving so.^^ 

^^Who? — who died? — where Mrs. Ballantyne asked, 
absently. 

‘^Mr. DavenporPs beautiful wife.^^ 

Oh, yes — perhaps. But I do not believe she is 
dead,^^ Emily added, indifferently, and once more lapsed 
into reverie. 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


65 


CHAPTER VII. 

T he NIG-HT of “Thersie^s /e^e/^ as they all called 
it, rolled round in due course of time without 
anything occurring to mar that young lady^s anticipa- 
tions of happiness, or to render her sister’s hard task 
one atom the easier. The Ballantyne mansion, or the 
Old Gordon Home,” as it was better known in the 
neighborhood, was flooded with light, gorgeous with 
floral decorations, redolent of intoxicating perfumes 
from a thousand different flowers, and resonant with 
the inspiring sounds of the best string band the city 
afforded. 

Already the dressing-rooms were becoming uncom- 
fortably crowded with that class of guests which per- 
vades every rank of society. The anxious members of 
society, we may call them. People who, laboring under 
a chronic apprehension of being too late on every occa- 
sion, ward off that dread catastrophe by invariably being 
hours too soon, are always seized with the same pangs of 
acute mortification over their prematureness and cower 
in the obscurity of the dressing-rooms until the arrival 
of some ultra-fashionable inspires them with the courage 
to emerge, with a well-assumed air of having just ar- 
rived, that restores to them their forfeited self-respect. 

Already a sprinkling of the other sex lounge in the 
gentlemen’s room or posture in the empty parlors, cast- 
ing scrutinizing glances at their boots, envious ones at 
some other fellow’s, and furtive ones at the long mirrors 
which tantalized them on every side of Mrs. Ballantyne’s 
handsome rooms, a mirror being a thing that no man 
will look squarely and honestly in the face, unless doubly 
and trebly well assured of his own utter isolation from 


66 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


the rest of his kind. Those who had been there before, 
the men of the Ballantyne set/^ had one subject of 
interest in common, pending the appearance of the 
interesting sex, and that was the arrival of a guest 
whom, they assured each other in impressive under- 
tones, they were dashed sure they had never before 
met at any house of ‘^our set, you know.'’^ 

The object of this untender solicitude being none 
other than Mr. Josiah Phillips, whose father, having, as 
it were, cast him helpless on the wild, of the gentlemen^s 
apartments, had suddenly and mysteriously disappeared 
to poor' Joe’s anguished dismay. 

Mr. Phillips, junior, can best be described as a plaid 
young man, with a maximum of blonde English whiskers 
and a minimum of good hard common sense. He 
affected the biggest plaids to be found in the market and 
the newest slang to be found in current dialect. 

At home, or in the plebeian circle that felt honored 
by Attorney Phillips’ friendship, J oe showed at his best. 
Pie was never at a loss there for speech or jest, and his 
pale, prominent blue eyes showed to better advantage 
when twinkling with the mirth excited by a doubtful 
story of his^own telling than they did under the battery 
of the frozen inspection he underwent from the young 
bloods ” who were trying to decide ^^who the deuce he 
was, you know, anyhow!” 

Joe simply stared at them all in unwinking terror. 
Seating himself uncomfortably on the sloping lid of a 
tall Saratoga trunk, he worked industriously to induce a 
very large and red and knuckly hand to go into a white 
kid-glove of fatally disproportioned dimensions, until, 
what with anxiety and exertion, great drops of mortal 
agony beaded his flushed brow and encircled his long, 
meager neck, to the imminent risk of a very high and 
stiff shirt-collar. 

With an air of desperation, he jerked out a highly 
perfumed handkerchief, and flourished it like a censer 
preparatory to the mopping process, remarking, with a 
feeble smile, to the cruel crowd about him, as he 
clutched spasmodically at his necktie with nervous 
Angers: 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


G? 


I say — you know — but it’s awful warm — might say 
hot — but, you know — yes!” 

Some one kindly assenting, Joe resumed work on his 
gloves, ill no way discomposed’ by an audible remark 
from the young man at the glass, who was adjusting his 
waxed mustache ends for the tenth or eleventh time, 
pausing only to mutter something about a ^^rare and 
radiant creature,” which made everybody but Mr. Phil- 
lips smile, as at a witticism. 

Up-stairs, Mrs. Ballantyne had just swept across the 
hall from her own room to Thersie’s, to ^‘'overlook 
her,” she said, ^‘before allowing her to go down stairs.” 

She found Miss Gordon standing with calmly folded 
hands, surveying her own pretty image with the deliber- 
ation she would have brought to bear upon one of Kosa 
Bonheur’s groups of quadrupeds (probably with less 
entire satisfaction). 

She turned at her sister’s entrance, and uttered a little 
ecstatic sound: 

Oh, Emily, you are simply superb! But you look 
pale. You have tired yourself down, and all for me!” 

‘‘Nonsense, child! I have had literally nothing to 
do. The whole thing has been in Salvo’s hands.” 

“Will I do?” asked Thersie, casting a backward 
glance over her shoulder. 

Mrs. Ballantyne stooped impulsively and kissed the 
sweet face upraised for her sisterly inspection. 

Then, with nervous fingers, she fell to picking out a 
satin bow here, and giving another twist to a knot of 
half-hidden moss buds in the folds of Thersie’s tulle 
overdress, anxiously groping her way toward the few 
words she had come there purposely to say. 

“ What a pity one can’t have the selection of one’s 
own nose, as one does of so much less important things,” 
says Thersie, speculatively. “Just imagine the delight 
of going to a nose-dealer’s and have him dump a purple 
velvet case full of noses down on the showcase for one to 
choose from! Do you suppose anybody would ever have 
picked out such an ugly little pudgy thing as this?” 
suddenly giving the member under discussion a fresh 


68 


mJJE TO HERSELF. 


dab of powder. Indeed, I should not; and, Em, I 
wish I was as tall as you are. You see,^^ she added, 
casting a bright look at the sister who towered above 
her, this is a very solemn occasion. One does "fiot 
have birthdays, nor birthday fetes, every day in the 
year, and it behooves the recipient of such honors to 
take meet and proper care to do honor to the honor. 
Now, if I were the proud possessor of your statuesque 
beauty, I should be perfectly well content to make my 
delut with an unlimited supply of new Lonsdale muslin, 
or Fruit of the Loom, wrapped round about me in 
classic folds, with a jeweled shoulder-strap across my 
classic arm, with a Grecian fillet about my classic .brow, 
and sandals criss-crossed over my classic toes. But my 
nose has been the death of every classic aspiration of 
my soul, and has consigned me forever to the ignomini- 
ous necessity for flounces and furbelows, and frizzes and 
every other ^F^ dear to the feminine heart. You would 
look just as well in Lonsdale, or Fruit of the Loom, as 
you do in that exquisite brocade, whose satin train you 
are offering as a premium to the luckless wretch who 
shall stumble oftenest and most irretrievably over its 
glistening beauty. As for me, I suppose ^sweetly 
pretty^ and ^awfully nice^ will be the verdict of the 
sexes upon the ^fair dehuta7ite^ — thaFs what theyfil 
have to call me, isn^t it?’^ 

had no idea, Theresa, you were possessed of so 
much personal vanity, Mrs. Frederic said, a trifle 
sternly, turning her sister from the glass and detaining 
her hand in her own with an air of desperate resolution, 
apparently disproportionate to the offense. 

‘^Vanity! Is it vanity that makes me think I am en- 
tirely too dumpy for beauty? that my nose is a pug? 
that those fluffy rings of hair would be more creditable 
to a poodle than to a young woman? that my mouth is 
only redeemable from actual disgrace by a respectable set of 
teeth? that my eyes and brows are the only things about 
my face I can contemplate without a pang? I onlyvash 
I had some real excuse for vanity, Emily. I would 
dearly love to be beautiful — so beautiful that no one 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


09 


could help loving me; so beautiful that people — every- 
body — would have to love me in spite of themselves; in 
spite of anything I might do, or say, or be; as beautiful 
as you say Mr. Leslie Davenport^s wife was.^^ 

How that old story seems to haunt you,” said her 
sister impatiently. You are well enough child. Such 
beauty as Isadora Costae’s was a curse to herself and to 
everybody else. One does not need the baneful gift of 
perfect beauty to secure one^s happy settlement in life. 
One ought to look at marriage from a purely common- 
sense point of view after all.” 

Did you, Emily?” the girl asked, impulsively, 
did!” said her sister, defiantly; and the result 
has sustained my judgment in the matter. But come, 
we must be getting down stairs to receive your guests.” 

Already? Oh, do wait! If I don^t get these gloves 
buttoned before I go down stairs, they will be fiapping 
about my wrists all night like flags at half-mast.” 

Give me your glove buttoner,” said Mrs. Ballantyne; 
so with TherMe^s plump wrist resting on her arm, and 
her face bent over the gloves, she found sufficient cour- 
age at last to say: By-the-way, Thersie, there will be 

a guest here to-night who has never before been seen in 
our circle, and will probably excite some curiosity. I 
want you to be very kind to him. It is Mr. Phillip’s 
son. You know our father thought a great deal of Mr. 
Phillips, and although he is a lawyer and, as a rule, our 
lawyers occupy the very best social positions, Mr. Phillips 
has never attained any very desirable prominence in New 
Orleans. I can scarcely tell you why. I have heard him 
called a pettifoger, and he is said to be tricky. But I 
am not in a position to refuse a reasonable request from 
him, so you will find his son down stairs. The old gen- 
tleman seems very anxious for the young man to form 
a desirable circle of acquaintances. This is his only 
child, and he has bestowed on him every advantage of 
education and travel. I hope you will not be unkind to 
him if he should prove a trifle awkward or uninterest- 
ing.” 

Unkind to him? AVhy, Emily, Avhat do you take me 


70 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


for? Have I ever been guilty of rudeness to any of your 
guests 

^^No, of course not/^ said her sister, fumbling ner- 
vously over the last button. ^"But I want you to be 
particularly kind to this young man.^^ 

^‘Why? — because he is Mr. Phillips^ only child, and 
because our father thought the world of his father?"^ 
Thersie asks, with a laugh. 

Cannot you sometimes do a thing simply because I 
ask it, without multiplying whys and wherefores so ex- 
asperatingly?^^ Mrs. Ballantyne asks, with sudden harsh- 
ness. 

^^For mercy^s sake don^t cloud up again!” Thersie 
cries, aghast. do so detest sharp words and moody 
brows. Bring on your Phillipses, father and son, and I 
promise solemnly to be sugar and spice and everything 
nice to the whole tribe of them, if only you wonT be 
hystericky and sulky, as you have been so often of late.” 

Then they passed down stairs into the brilliantly-lighted 
parlors, and Thersie^s whole soul was soon filled with the 
intoxicating pleasure attendant upon feminine suprem- 
acy. It was her fete! Everybody was there to do her 
honor! How many kind things they all had to say! how 
good and amiable and flattering everybody was! 

It is true, when she came to think of it, there was a 
certain degree of sameness in the congratulations; but 
then, how could every one be original upon one subject, 
and that subject herself and ^‘^the happy occasion !” 

Mr. Davenport was the only one who had not acted 
precisely as the rest had. He had come up with his 
friend, her brother-in-law, had offered his hand, which, 
Thersie was not quite sure was good form, but he had 
looked so gravely kind, so simply earnest, when wishing 
her very many happy returns of the day, and the flowers 
he had put in her hand were so exquisitely selected and 
pleasantly offered, that the donor seemed more than one 
infinitesimal atom of the gay, social kaleidoscope she was 
turning in her girlish hands. 

It was evident she had surprised him in some way, 
for when brought up to be introduced, and she had said, 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


71 


with pleased impulsiveness, Mr. Davenport! I have met 
him before, he glanced quickly into her upturned face, 
then said, offering his hand : 

^^When Fred prevailed upon me to attend his sister’s 
fUe, I did not know that that sister and the Miss Gordon 
of vivid memory were one.” 

After which he had given place to others who had 
congratulations to offer, and left Thersie wondering if 
he had known, if he would have come or stayed away. 

He thinks that Miss Gordon a pert, forward piece, 
evidently,” was her wise mental conclusion. 

When her sister finally brought Mr. Josiah Phillips up 
she accompanied her presentation of the young man with 
such an impressive, almost pleading, look that Thersie, 
mindful of the fact that Emily had gona through all the 
trouble and fatigue of this entertainment simply to give 
her pleasure, heroically applied herself to the task of 
keeping her promise to her sister about this young gen- 
tleman. 

My sister tells me you have been quite a traveler, 
Mr. Phillips,”- she began sweetly, holding to the inward 
conviction that the best way to make some people enjoy 
themselves is to encourage them to talk about them- 
selves. 

^^Yes; but, y’ know, it’s true,” Joe answered in his 
violent, staccato style, pulling his blonde whiskers with 
his long, lank hand, while he gazed stupidly down into 
the bright face of his interlocutor. 

^^And you have been all over Europe? Do tell me 
about it !” 

Yes; but, y’ know — I say — took terrible ’mount of 
tin! Gov’nor growled like a polar bear.” 

And Joe’s nervous fingers passed restlessly from his 
whiskers to the knot of his cravat, which seemed per- 
petually threatening suffocation. 

Governor who?” inquires Thersie innocently. 

Gov’nor I My gov’nor! Gov’nor Phillips. Yes; but, 
y’ know, it’s true!” Joe answers, grinning in appreciation 
of his epigrammatic reply. 

Of course you visited Rome?” 


72 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


''Yes, by Jove! it's jolly! But, f knowT 

"And Genoa?” 

" Beastly hole!” 

" Of course you had opportunities of seeing a great 
many foreign manufactories and various interesting in- 
dustries. Our American gentlemen, as a rule, are such 
practical travelers that they care more for the modern 
industries of the countries they visit than for their his- 
torical interest or romantic ruins,” says Thersie, studi- 
ously bent upon discovering his opinion, unwisely con- 
cluding that he must have one. 

" Hanged if I recollect anything but the fellers makin’ 
jugs! Yes; but, y^ know, it^s true!” 

"Jugs!” Thersie exclaims, making eyes to keep .from 
laughing. 

"Yes. Oh! — I say! — but, y know, pa says we are to 
be great friends. Go jolly good larks together, and all 
that sort o' thing.” 

" He does?” says Thersie, drawing back a little. 

"Yes; but, y' know, it’s true. And Tm to bring a 
team round to-morrow to take you drivin' on the shell 
road. She says I may,” jerking one thumb toward Mrs. 
Ballantyne, who had not dared to venture to any great 
distance until this formidable first interview should be 
safply concluded. 

"We will be very much obliged to you, I am sure, 
Mr. Phillips. Thersie has not been out to the Lake this 
Spring. And after the fatigues of to-night's enjoyment 
she will appreciate a drive most keenly,” that lady said, 
quickly interposing to render the refusal she saw in her 
sister's eyes for ever impossible. 

"Yes! but you know it's true! It'll be jolly good 
fun — spanking team, green peas, croakers, snipe, quail, 
by Jove!” 

And words failing him, Mr. Josiah smacked his full, 
red lips with unctuous enjoyment of the anticipated 
bliss. 

" It will be delighted. But now, Mr. Phillips, I can- 
not let my sister monopolize you. She will not be able 
to join the dancers for some time to come. But you 
must let me find you a partner,” 


fnUE TO HEB8ELF. 


75 


The look of disgust on Theresa^s face changed to one 
of gratitude as her sister placed her hand on Mr. 
Phillips^ arm, and disappeared with him in the crowd. 

The evening was drawing to a close. On the whole it 
had been a very happy one to Thersie, in spite of the 
Phillips’ episode, as she ignorantly persisted in consider- 
ing Joe’s appearance on the scene. 

Mr. Davenport had not asked her to dance. She was 
so glad of that; she felt quite sure dancing was not 
becoming to him. It would have robbed him of the 
pathetic interest his story had aroused in her tender 
little heart. But he had come to her when she had 
almost reached the point of exhaustion, and quietly 
taken possession of her, and walked her off into the little 
back parlor, where there were but a few quiet couples 
sitting about, talking, and had seated her in one of the 
big armchairs, and brought her a cup of strong coffee 
instead of chilling ices, and had engaged her in quiet, 
restful conversation, for half an hour, or more, then, 
with a smile, had offered her his arm once more, saying: 

Society is a merciless task-mistress. Your enjoy- 
ment this evening has been of rather a laborious descrip- 
tion. You looked so pale when I asked you to promen- 
ade with me that I presumptuously stole you from your 
admirers for this short, pleasant half-hour. You look 
rested now. Shall I take you back to them?” 

Theresa rose with a half-sigh. 

I almost hate to go back. It is so hot and tiresome. 
Thank you for this episode, and for not asking me to 
dance.” 

‘‘1 never dance; but my thanks are due you for a 
very epjoyable evening. I hope we may meet again 
under more restful auspices.” 

And that was his adieu. 

^^It’s all right, is it?” Attorney Phillips found oppor- 
tunity to ask, in a low voice, as he accepted a cup of 
coffee at his hostess’ hands before leaving. 

Theresa knows nothing but that your son is our 
guest, and does not seem to feel quite at his ease,” she 
answered, glancing remorsefully toward the alcove, where 


n 


TR U^ TO HERSELR. 


her sister, with extended hand and sparkling eyes, was 
listening to Leslie Davenport^s pleasant words of adieu. 

told yon Joe was a fool,*'’ his father said, compla- 
cently, but if there^s anything in him she^ll fetch it 
out.^'’ 

And that was his adieu. 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


75 


CHAPTER VIIL 

A VERY HANDSOME ANIMAL. 

T he elder Mrs. Ballaiityne had just settled 
herself comfortably for an after-dinner chat with 
her favorite son. In her hand was one of Miss Charlotte 
M. Yonge^s sedate novels (the strongest infusion of ro- 
mance which Mother Ballantyne ever allowed herself), 
and on her lap was a certain inevitable little paper bag 
of gum drops, which Everard never failed to lay aS his 
daily offering upon the altar of filial affection. 

But she had no intention of paying her respects to 
Miss Yonge just yet, nor of impeding the flow of con- 
versation by indulgence in the glutinous drops so dear 
to her palate; for this was her white hour — the happiest 
hour of all the day to the mother — who was sure of 
Everard’s companionship only until eight o^clock, after 
which it was almost certain that he would tell her, 
apologetically, of some binding engagement down town, 
give her a remorsefully tender kiss, promise her to be 
safe at home betimes, and go away to be seen no more 
until the next morning, when he would come dutifully 
to escort her to the breakfast table. 

AVhen Everard should be gone it would be time enough 
to adjust the drop-light to the gas fixtures, search dili- 
gently for the place where she left off in Magnum 
Bonum,^^ and put a gumdrop on her tongue, to finish her 
evening in quiet loneliness, reading a little, dozing a little, 
pondering upon Everard^s future a great deal, listening 
with sleepy solicitude for the clock to strike nine, before 
which conscience would not permit her to consider her 
day^s routine faithfully wrought out to its monotonous 
end, unless, indeed, Thersie came to wing the hours for 
her. 


76 


TRUE TO HER SELF, 


But Thersie did not come now as often as she had at 
first. 

^“^It^s all Emily^s doings/^ she said to Everard, when 
they wondered at her absence. 

Mrs. Ballantyne was not quite satisfied with her boy^s 
appearance. He was thin, and there were dark circles 
about his handsome eyes. His had once been the sun- 
niest of natures, but now he was sadly inclined to nerv- 
ous irritability. 

There was a settled pallor about the broad white fore- 
head, where the thick rings of his curling black hair 
clung to the moistened surface in a way that spoke of 
physical weakness; and there was a universal air of lan- 
guorous indift'erence to everything that sorely tried the 
mother^s heart, and set at naught her feeble efforts to 
entertain and amuse him. 

She noted all these signs of evil with the keen vision 
of love; but when she confided her apprehensions to Fred- 
eric, his invariable answer was: 

^"He is still with Davenport, isnT he? Best assured 
that if he were going very far astray, he could not stay 
there. 

This was all the comfort Mother Ballantye had in the 
long dull evenings when she was left to herself. 

Thersie invariably took her roundly to task for remain- 
ing by herself, when she would as invariably make answer: 

""You know, dearie, I could not have a spirited young 
man like Everard mope his evenings away with a prosy 
old mother like me. I am not the talker I used to be, 
and in a boarding house you are always so afraid you will 
intrude if you go visiting. Sometimes there are children 
being put to bed, sometimes husbands and wives look as 
if they had just finished a cross talk, and the bride and 
groom look as if they wished you miles away; and Mary 
Agnew is always ready for bed as soon as the dinner 
things are cleared away, so I find it safest to keep to my 
own room. Miss Yonge is very good company. She is 
never cross to me nor snubs me.^'’ 

The younger Mr. Ballantyne had just dropped lazily 
into the easy-chair which his mother always placed seduc- 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


77 


tively by the window whence the prettiest glimpse of the 
city was to be obtained and the sweetest breath from Mrs. 
Agnew^s orange-trees came in. I am not g^re that this 
hour of dutiful companionship did not assume meritori- 
ous proportions in the young man^s own estimation. 

^‘Well, what do you think of her, son?^Hhe mother 
asks, naturally taking the arrival of their country heiress 
as the evening text. 

think she is a very handsome animal!” Mr. Ballan- 
tyne answers, puffing vigorously at a freshly-lit cigar. 

^^Oh, son! don^t you think that sounds — well, the least 
little bit coarse? She certainly is very handsome, and as 
graceful as a young fawn. I am quite sure she has, a 
docile disposition, her splendid eyes are as mild and 
gentle as they are big and gray. Mary Agnew says she 
evidently needs goods judicious training. Pruning, I 
should say. There seems to be a superabundance of 
vitality about her. It seems she has grown up almost 
wild on the plantation.” 

Everard laughed lazily. 

Every adjective and expression you have used in de- 
scribing our country member, mother, would apply 
equally as well, if not better, to an unbroken colt than to 
a young lady, which leaves you and me finally on one 
platform. I grant her every physical perfection you 
claim for her. By-the-way, not to seem too prying, 
what is the name? You know, when introductions are 
made by ladies, as a rule, the names of the parties are 
either supposed to be so well known to each other as to 
render any introduction at all a work of supererogation, 
or else they are slurred over with such indecent haste 
that one is left either to guess at them recklessly, or to 
address his new acquaintance as you, she or it.” 

Fanny Marsden is her name. She has spent nearly 
her whole life on a back-land plantation, somewhere in 
Franklin parish, I believe, where they do say, son, it is 
not an uncommon thing to find grown men and women 
who can neither read nor write! She has been reared by 
a very ordinary sort of an old woman. No one even 
knows that she is a relative. The old lady has property. 


78 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


which will all go to this girl^ and it would seem as if she 
were trying to do a just part by her, as they say she has 
had governesses at home up to the present time, when 
she has been brought here to be finished in music and 
French.” 

am lost in wondering admiration at the celerity 
with which you have acquired such intimate knowledge 
of that young lady^s antecedents and career from the 
cradle to the present time, mamma. But there is no 
place on earth, I suspect, like a private boarding-house 
for that sort of clairvoyance. Now, I am solemnly con- 
vinced that Miss McAfee knows the precise number of 
cravats in my top drawer, and that Mrs. Butler is pre- 
pared to inform an anxious public of the exact date of 
my first tooth-cutting. But with such doubtful ante- 
cedents, how was it possible for Miss Marsden to gain 
admittance into this magic Agnew circle?” 

“ Well, you see, son,” his mother replied, with cheer- 
ful prolixity, never happier than when called upon to 
solve a social problem, this old aunt, or whatever she 
may be to Miss Marsden, is, as I told you, a planter, and 
of course she has her commission merchant. This com- 
mission merchant has been the person who has procured 
goveiuiesses for the girl at different times, and when it 
was finally decided to bring her here for a year or two, 
the last governess had become so interested in her, on 
account, as she said, ‘ of her sweetness and beauty and 
friendliness,^ that she asked Mr. Putney, the commission 
merchant, to secure for her a boarding-place where her 
surroundings and associations would be unexceptional, 
and, as Mr. Putney is an old friend of MaryAgnew^ he 
applied here immediately. I picked all this up before 
she came. You know Mary and I are more like sisters 
than anything else — she tells me pretty much every- 
thing. bid you ever see anything redder than her lips, 
or whiter than her teeth? — Miss Marsden, I mean.” 

She has a beastly trick of biting her lips, and a 
decidedly provincial one of showing those white teeth. 
For all the world like some beautiful beast of prey.” 

^^She certainly is sadly in need of polishing,” the 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


79 


mother admitted. But her eyes! I am quite sure you 
can find no fault there. Such clear, honest steel-blue 
eyes, under such a straight, beautifully marked brow! 
Why that girl does not look as if she ever experienced 
the sensation of fear or shame in the whole course of her 
life.” 

‘^1 doubt if she ever has. I suspect hunger and 
thirst have hitherto been her acutest sensations of any 
description. If you have located her properly I can tell 
you pretty accurately what sort of existence your hand- 
some wonder has led up to the present time. She has 
grown up in absolute and insolent domination over every 
one about her, including the old aforesaid relative, and 
probably a score or two of stupid negroes, a pack of 
hounds, her riding-horse, and every creeping thing 
about. The man who keeps a store for supplying the 
whole country side with small necessaries, and to whom 
the sparse weekly mail is intrusted, is her only con- 
ception of manly cultivation and intellectual superior- 
ity. She evidently has no occasion to cultivate the 
society of the physician, who does medical duty within 
an area of thirty miles around. Ministers there are none 
about. The males of the surrounding plantations — 
dull, stupid, lumpish — ^are the most abject among her 
many slaves. She has never had any womankind supe- 
rior to herself by which to compare herself, unless it 
were her governesses, and as they were paid for their 
services, they, too, took inferior rank to her serene high- 
ness. So what can she have known either of fear or 
shame?” 

You have been there,” his mother says in a puzzled 

way. 

Never that I know of, but all those back-land par- 
ishes are pretty much as I have described them, and I 
believe Franklin ranks a little lower than its neigh- 
bors.” 

Then how did you know about my dogs and my horse, 
and the man at the store?” asked a clear, positive young 
voice in entirely unabashed accents, as Miss Marsden 
herself, with calmly folded arms, appeared at the long 


80 


mm TO irmsMir. 


French window which opened upon the balcony in front 
of Mrs. Ballantyne^s room. 

Mr. Ballantyne brought his feet down from their ele- 
vated position in the open window, by which he was 
sitting, with more energy than grace. Mrs. Ballantyne 
started with such nervous trepidation that her gumdrops 
were scattered in the wildest confusion over Miss Char- 
lotte M. Yonge, over her own lap, the carpet, the fire- 
place and every available nook and cranny. 

The deuce muttered Mr. Ballantyne, casting a 
despairing glance about for his hat, which was lying al- 
most directly under his nose. 

‘^Dear, dear!^^ sighed Mother Ballantyne, wondering 
what else there was for her to say. 

There, now, how stupid of me!^^ said the imperturb- 
able cause of all this dismay. But how was I to know 
I would make you spill all your gumdrops! And I dare 
say all this while I had no business at all on that end of 
the balcony. You know my room opens upon it, too, at 
the south end, and after you all went away from the 
dinner-table and shut yourselves up like so many rabbits 
in so many burrows, I just didn’t know what in the wide 
world to do with myself. Of course I went to my burrow 
as I saw all the rest of the rabbits doing. Miss Wells 
(that’s my last teacher) told me a very safe rule to ob- 
serve while I was down here was to do pretty much as I 
saw everybody else doing, and to ask as few questions as 
possible. So, getting lonelier every minute, I stepped 
out on the gallery, and was amusing myself looking at 
the people going by. It was not my fault you did not 
hear me walking up this way, and it is not your fault 
that I heard every word you said about me:” Here she 
broke out into such a merry, mirth-provoking laugn 
that Timon of Athens himself would have been com- 
pelled to join her in it. ^‘But I’m not the least bit 
mad,” she said, recovering her gravity by an effort, 
and I only hope you won’t think I did anything mean 
or under-handed in hearing you.” 

And with irresistible sweetness, she held out her hand 
to the young gentleman, who had all this time been 


THU^ TO MEHSMF. 


81 


standing before her, humbled and mortified and totally 
incapacitated for framing one word of apology, then she 
stooped impulsively and pressed a warm kiss on the 
mother^s flushed cheek. 

^^Now, then, let me repair some of the mischief I have 
done,^^ with which, and in spite of protestations from 
mother and son, she dropped suddenly upon her knees 
and began quickly gathering up the scattered gum- 
drops. 

There was nothing for it but for Everard to join her 
in her self-imposed task; and as scattered gumdrops are 
not to be picked up from the lofty attitude of six feet, 
he was compelled to go down upon his reluctant knees. 
Thus humbled, and with that merry, innocent face so 
close to his own, it was utterly impossible to retain one 
vestige of his wonted hauteur. 

Stately courtesy is not easily maintained on all-fours, 
so that by the time Mrs. Ballantyne^’s gumdrops were all 
recovered, Mr. Ballantyne and Miss Marsden were on a 
more friendly footing than weeks following an ordinary 
introduction could possibly have placed them. 

^^Dear me! how homesick that made me feel!^^ said 
the pretty intruder, as, their task completed, she rose to 
her feet; drew herself up to her full and stately stature, 
and composedly began rearranging the heavy plaits of 
hair that had tumbled about her forehead and eyes. 

Homesick Mrs. Ballantyne repeated, wonderingly. 

‘^Yes, homesick said Fj accepting the chair 



wonder, donT you 


(laced for her by Everard, 


how any one could be sick for such a home as he^^ — 
nodding her head toward Everard — has just described 
to you? But, all the same, I am. Down on my knees 
there, gathering those gumdrops, carried me back to 
September and October days at home — such beautiful 
days — when the skies are so clear and blue, and the air 
so mild, and everything so still you can hear the pecans 
as they drop of their own accord down into the heaps 
of dead leaves — great sycamore leaves, and crimson gum 
leaves, and russet cottonwood leaves, that all fall so 
early and pile up so thick that, unless you go down upon 




TRUE TO HERSELF. 


your knees in the clean, sweet-smelling heaps, you will 
never find half the precious nuts hidden away under 
them. And all about the crowns of the trees the greedy 
crows are circling and cawing — they love pecans as well 
as anybody — and the branches are alive with squirrels, 
little red and gray and black thieves, who are so afraid 
of not getting their full share - that they drop as many 
nuts as they devour; but the turkeys know the crows' 
and squirrels' careless tricks, so around and about they 
stalk, stately and patient, till their share falls at their 
feet. And old Bet, with her ten speckled pigs, knows 
when the pecans are dropping, too; so, what between 
me and the crows and the squirrels, and the turkeys and 
the pigs, the pecan crop is sure of being harvested. 
Then there are the paw-paws and the persimmons. Oh, 
it is just glorious at home in September and October! 
The fields are as white as snow with the open cotton, 
and, though we have no hills to rave about, our woods 
are so sweet with the perfume of the sweet gum, and 
the fence rows are all afire then with the golden rod and 
the love-vine, that looks like masses of tangled yellow 
floss silk thrown all over the bushes; and the pretty 
purple plumes of the iron weed, and the crimson trum- 
pet flower climbing all over the tall brown heads of the 
cat-o'-nine-tails that choke the ditches, while over all 
hang thick the black, glossy berries of the poison oak, 
which always make me think of the forbidden fruit — so 
beautiful and so deadly! Doesn't it appear to you as if 
God had made our fall season particularly beautiful, as 
if to console us for the loss of summer?" 

She paused and looked inquiringly into Everard 
Ballantyne's handsome face. 

What she saw there made her blush intensely and 
drop her eyes quickly upon her folded hands. 

I see," she said, showing her first signs of embarrass- 
ment, ‘^^you think I have been talking like a pert, 
flippant country simpleton. Miss Wells was right. I 
have a gre^ deal yet to learn. I dare say I committed 
a grave error in coming in here at all. But you said I 
might come here to see you " — to the mother — and I 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 

was so lonely. But Miss Wells told me it was not good 
form to entertain people with your own affairs, and Fve 
talked of nothing else.^"' 

With clasped hands, poor Fanny looked at them in 
comical despair. 

Whatever else his failings, ungentleness to woman- 
kind was not one of them; so Everard Ballantyne 
hastened to say, courteously and sincerely: 

Indeed, you have not read my looks at all correctly. 
While you were giving us such a simple and pretty 
picture of your country home, I was inwardly taking 
myself roundly to task for my own impertinent pre- 
sumption in judging you from what little I had seen of 
you, and by what I knew, theoretically, of your probable 
surroundings. I beg your j^ardon for that, and for any 
other pain I may have given you, however unintention- 
ally,” he added. 

But you have nothing to apologize for. Things are 
just as you described them,” she said, growing merry 
again. And I dare say, after I have been here a year, 
it will be like death to go back.” 

Well, not to anticipate that evil day, since chance 
has thrown us under the same roof, it is to be hoped we 
will be the very best of friends. I am sure you will 
have it in your power to brighten many a lonely .hour 
for the little mother there. And you and I will be good 
comrades while inmates of one house, will we not?” 

Through thick and thin !” the young provincial said , 
heartily, and frankly extending a handsome sun -browned 
hand in ratification of the treaty. ^‘'Now I must be 
going,” she added, rising with startling suddenness. 

Miss Wells told me it was not good form to make a first 
visit very long. Poor, dear Wells! How she did adore 
^ good form.'’” 

She left them with as little ceremony as she had en- 
tered with. 

Through thick and thin!” Mother Ballantyne re- 
peated, meditatively. ^^That is the second sweet and 
good girl who has promised in the same words to be your 
good friend for life, son. A little odd she should have 
used Thersie's very expression.” 


84 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Not all at all,” said Everard, a little bitterly, when 
you consider what an everyday expression it is, anyhow, 
and how little stress young ladies are apt to lay upon the 
form of their promises of undying friendship. I suspect 
the words have as much meaning on the lips of this 
pretty provincial, whom we have known for an hour, as 
on Thersie% whom we used to think we knew thoroughly 
by heart.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


85 


CHAPTER IX. 

NOT A SUCCESS. 

A ll- of aristocratic Esplanade that chanced to be out- 
doors about noon on the day after Thersie^s fete 
gazed with well-bred wonder at a decidedly 'pronounce 
turnout that clattered up to Mrs. Ballantyne^s carriage- 
block in what seemed almost furious haste. 

The horses were so showy in their cream-white satin 
coats and glittering, gold-mounted harness, the open 
brett to which they were attached was so conspicuous by 
reason of its glossy panels and brilliant yellow wheels, the 
solitary occupant who reclined with uneasy ease upon the 
back seat so far outshone Solomon in fine raiment and 
golden ornament, that the supercilious curiosity the 
whole spectacle excited would have been pardonable in a 
less rigidly respectable and fashionable neighborhood. 

And still the wonder grew when Mrs. Ballantyne and 
Miss Gordon, universally regarded aa two of the most 
delicately fastidious women of their set, permitted them- 
selves to be handed into this splendid equipage by its 
inelegant occupant and twirled out of sight at that same 
mad gait — a gait which, Thersie afterward declared, 
converted the fast-spinning yellow wheels into four 
mammoth sunflowers. 

It was not without a thrill of disgust that Mrs. Bal- 
lantyne thus publicly did penance for her secret sin. 

To do her full justice the loathsome contract to which 
she had bound herself, the fate toward which she was 
compelling the innocent girl by her side, as her own only 
salvation from public disgrace, the dark labyrinth of de- 
ception and lies into which that one false step had forced 
her reluctant feet, were all so ever present with her that 
the annoyance of being seen in public in such vulgar 


86 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


company as Mr. Josiah Phillips’ sank into its proper in- 
significance, so that, apparently, she sat quietly com- 
posed, the same cool, stately, haughty Mrs. Frederic 
Ballantyne that all her world knew. 

But with Thersie it was different. There was no in- 
ward smart to distract her attention from the tingling 
mortification of finding herself placed in such a thor- 
oughly ridiculous position. 

She followed her sister into the carriage, meekly ac- 
quiescent outward, but at heart fiercely rebellious. 

What did Emily mean by this unprecedented display 
of complaisance? 

She had seen her snub young men mercilessly and re- 
morselessly for less than half the ready assurance this in- 
sufferable Mr, Josiah Phillips had shown. 

She had always thought vulgarity was a thing her sis- 
ter recoiled from in instinctive disgust; yet here she was, 
giving vulgarity, as personified by the attorney’s son, dis- 
tinct and public countenance in the most gracious man- 
ner, without even a private protest against it, and, what 
was worse, compelling her to assist at the sacrifice of their 
most cherished prejudices. 

It was altogether incomprehensible. 

Just suppose they should meet any of their acquaint- 
ances out at the lake! Did not their escort look for all 
the world like a gambler, or the proprietor of a free- 
lunch establishment? 

She hoped Frederic would see them, and insist upon 
joining the party. At least it would add an element of 
respectability to the jaunt to have her brother-in-law 
along, which she fiercely pronounced lacking as it was. 

Thus, in as near an approach to the sulks as Thersie 
knew how to attain, she curled herself up into as small 
a space as possible in her corner of the carriage, and 
held her parasol at half-mast, ready to lower it as a 
shield between herself and any chance of recognition, 
by her silence compelling her sister to bear the burden of 
sustaining the conversation with their escort, who seemed 
simply and happily unconscious that everybody was not 
enjoying themselves as thoroughly as he was. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


87 


But as Mrs. Ballantyne^s conscience acknowledged the 
full ^’ustice of Thersie^’s unspoken sentence upon her 
own incomprehensible conduct^ she lent herself to the 
task of answering Mr. Phillips^ platitudes with ladylike 
amiability. 

^^Yes; but, y" know, iPs true!” the lawyer^s son had 
said, in his violent staccato style, climbing into position 
fronting the ladies, very much as one might board a rail- 
road train already under headway; want you V have a 
real jolly good time. Team canT be beat. Two-forty 
on the shell road! Eh! you driver, I say! Spank it up 
Washington Avenue! Yank it out U lake. Now, then!” 
with which he affectionately clasped his crossed legs with 
one arm and fingering the knot of his cravat, which 
seemed perpetually threatening its wearer with suffoca- 
tion, he gave himself up to the delight of staring with 
unblinking admiration into Thersie^s pretty sulking face, 
notwithstanding she kept it modestly veiled and* provok- 
ingly averted. 

It is Emily^s and his own doings that I am taking 
this detestable drive; now let them entertain each 
other,” was her inward resolution, adhered to with all 
that obstinacy which was hers by right of sex and in- 
dividuality. 

Suddenly, as the showy equipage dashed into Washing- 
ton Avenue, Mrs. Ballantyne aroused her sister from 
her sulky abstraction by saying: Theresa, I promised 
you that some of these days, when we were out driving, 
I would show you Leslie DavenporPs beautiful place. 
We will pass it in a moment or two. That handsome 
iron fence, with the stately ornamental shade-trees 
within, belong to his premises.” 

With swift interest Thersie furled her parasol and sat 
bolt upright. ^^Make him drive slower, please,” she 
said, with a little imperative nod toward the driver's 
seat, and smiling upon Mr, Phillips for the first time 
that day. 

Snapping his fingers wildly in the driver's ears, Mr. 
Phillips conveyed the young lady's wish for more 
moderate speed, then tumbled back into position with 
the inquiry: ^ 


TWE to milBELE. 


Yes; but, I say, who is Leslie Davenport 

friend of my husband%^^ Mrs. Ballantyne an- 
swered, for her sister was too absorbed in contempla- 
tion of the deserted home they were driving slowly past 
to heed the inquiry, whose romantic story I was telling 
my sister a few days ago. He had some domestic 
trouble that caused him to desert this lovely place and 
leave it to go to decay, although I must say it does not 
show any signs of decay as yet.'’^ 

^^Yes; but, I say, why not sell it? Turn it into 
money! Don’t look like good sense to lock up so much 
value for mice and moth. Might have public auction. 
Folks swarm like bees out of curiosity. Sell everything 
like hot-cakes. Ought t’make capital out of it.” 

^^Some people are troubled with delicate scruples that 
would forbid them making capital out of their domestic 
troubles,” said Thersie, tartly, her eyes still fastened 
upon the ^ stately stone structure, that stood lonely and 
deserted, rigidly locked behind its iron gates, sheltered 
by its beautiful trees, a silent, melancholy reminder of 
what had been. 

Yes; but, you know, it’s throwing money away; it’s 
true, maybe, he’s awful rich.” 

He is in very comfortable circumstances,” Mrs. 
Ballantyne said. 

What beautiful order the grounds seem to be kept 
in,” says Thersie, sinking back into her corner, when it 
was no longer possible to catch a glimpse even of the 
iron fence, ^‘^it certainly has not the air of a deserted 
home, apart from the lifeless look of the closed doors 
and windows.” 

‘‘I have understood that everything in the house, as 
well as the grounds, is kept in as perfect order as if the 
master and mistress were expected back at any moment. 
A Swede and his wife have charge of the premises. You 
know those Swedes are so exquisitely neat, and they are 
entirely trustworthy.” 

I can answer for their neatness,” says Thersie; I 
have two little Swedish girls in my Sunday-school class. 
They are perfect paragons of neatness and propriety.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


89 


Yes; but, I say, I guess you’re awful good, arent't 
you?'' asked Josiah, with a tender look and a nervous 
twitch at his cravat. 

"^Why? because I have a class in Sunday-school?" 
Thersie asked, laughing into the simple face and staring 
eyes bent so earnestly upon her. 

‘‘ Yes; but, y' know, it's tme, and pa says you and 
me are to be all sorts of good friends." 

Thank you. I generally exercise my own judgment 
in the selection of my friends," Thersie answers, with 
an angry flush as she once more averted her face from 
her clumsy adorer. 

Mrs. Ballantyne hastened to obliterate the possible 
effect of this tart speech by some gracious allusion to 
the life-long friendship that had subsisted between their 
two families, which had the effect of making Thersie 
wonder more than ever, ^^what had come over Emily," 
and of making Mr. Phillips think the married sister was 
a deuced sight the jolliest of the two." 

wonder if he never goes there?" Thersie asks pres- 
ently in a low voice of her sister. 

At any other time Mrs. Ballantyne would have been 
sorely tempted to take her sister roundly to task for this 
persistent dwelling upon the romance of Leslie Daven- 
port's life; but as it was, she dared not make matters 
worse than they already were by irritating the girl, so 
she answered with forced interest in the subject: 

^^It is said that he has never entered the house since 
he left it with his wife. That the Swede receives all his 
orders concerning the premises from Mr. Davenport, in 
Carondelet Street." 

As Theresa w'as looking into her sister's face with 
eager interest in her answer she was struck with a cer- 
tain weariness in the handsome eyes, a tired droop 
about the beautiful. Arm mouth that smote her with 
remorse. 

^^Poor Em," she said in a soft half-whisper, ^^Pve 
been acting like a young savage to her." Then, gently 
laying her hand upon her sister's shoulder, she said in a 
louder voice: Emily, you have not gotten over last 

night's fatigue. I forbid you to open your mouth again 


90 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


unless it be to take some refreshment when we reach 
the lake/^ 

A grateful look from her sister rewarded her for this 
outburst of amiable inconsistency, after which she shook 
herself into a more energetic position and applied her- 
self so heroically to the task of entertaining the lawyer’s 
son that, when the tedious day finally came to a close 
and the fiery chariot,” as Thersie irreverently called 
their showy vehicle, drove up to their own door again, 
Mr. Phillips handed them out in a perfect burst of grati- 
fied delight. 

^^Yes; but, y’ know, this has just been the jolliest 
good day a fellow ever did have! And, by Jove! you’re 
just the jolliest sort of a lot! Yes: but y’ know, it is 
true! Pa’ll be ever so proud. Cornin’ again soon. Same 
team. Yes; but, y’ know, it’s true!” 

Thersie,” asked Mrs. Ballantyne, detaining her sister 
as she was hastily mounting the stairs to her own room, 
^'w^hat do you think of him?” 

'‘What do I think of whom?” asked the girl, with 
willful ignorance. 

Of young Mr, Phillips.” 

"Nothing.” 

"Nothing?” 

" Absolutely nothing, which I consider the truest kind- 
ness one can possibly do that description of mankind.” 

"But, Theresa, you have to think something of him. 
It is utterly impossible to be in a man’s company for 
three or four hours without forming some sort of opinion 
about him.” 

" I had scarcely thought of our escort as a man at all,” 
the young lady says, with crushing coolness; "but, if you 
insist upon an opinion, I will give you an alphabetical 
list of his imperfections: He is awkward, boyish, clumsy, 
dandified, egotistical, foolish.” 

"For mercy sake, stop such trifling,” her sister inter- 
rupted, with an irritated gesture, to which command she 
authoritatively added her own opinion: His faults are 
mainly the failings of extreme youth. I feel confident 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


91 


lie lias the best sort of disposition. I am sure he showed 
himself extremely forgiving to you to-day. 

"‘Forgiving to me!'" Tliersie repeats, with a haughty 
stare. 

“ Yes, you acted like a freshly-caught tartar when we 
first started, and I am compelled to say that your con- 
duct was neither polite to him nor kind to me." 

“I am sorrj, Emily, 1 should have fallen so far below 
your standard to-day. But in future, it will be safest 
for you to leave me the option of accepting or declining 
any invitations to drive that may be extended to me. 
Considering how thoroughly detestable this drive was to 
me, even in anticipation, I think I deserve commenda- 
tion rather than condemnation for my behavior." 

And then she sprang lightly up the stairs to avoid a 
continuance of the lecture. 

Mrs. Ballantyne stood motionless where her sister had 
left her for a full second, her gloved hands were clasped 
tightly about the handle of her parasol; her whole soul 
was in a tumult. 

“ Will I ever be able to bring it about? Great Heaven 
for the power to undo my own evil deed! Could not that 
creature have invented some other punishment for me, 
some easier reward for himself ? I know him to be 
treacherous, determined, merciless! I know this union 
to be the desire of his wicked heart! I know his power 
to disgrace me will be exercised to the fullest if I should 
fail. I know I dare not fail! And yet this is my first 
step toward success ! A miserable, hopeless failure ! There 
is but one way to succeed. Feeling must be crushed, 
choked, killed! Thersie's heart and my heart must be 
trampled on ruthlessly! 

“After all, once the thing done, the knot tied — inex- 
orably, inevitably bound to him — she will reconcile her- 
self to her fate as many another woman has had to do 
for less cause. She will have money to make of her life 
just as she will. He will never be unkind to her, poor 
simple fool! — he will be her adoring slave all his life. 
It must be done. It must be to save our name — her 
name as well as mine! 


92 


TRUE TO BERSELE. 


I am allowing the most foolish qualms^ the most 
dangerous weakness, the most fatal compunctions to 
threaten my resolution. I have permitted remorse for 
that deed and pity for Thersie, to make a feeble simple- 
ton of me. For his sake — Emile's! my beautiful boy, 
for whose sake I sinned — this thing must be wrought 
out to a successful end! Successful, but oh. Heaven! 
what a bitter end! It must be done; yes, but how? 
At this moment I feel farther than ever away from all 
hope of success. I must have time! Specified time! 
He must grant it to me. It cannot be accomplished in 
a day, nor a month, nor a year! Who knows what may 
happen in that time. Two years! I will tell him the 
very next time I see him. They are both so young. 
And I will have so much to do and undo before it 
becomes possible to make her say ^ Yes.' I shall have to 
make her forget so much of my own teachings. Two 
years, who knows! He may die! He, that old, cruel, 
merciless man that stole my secret from the dead may 
die, and then " — she shuddered as if with cold — this 
thing has m ade me a murderess at heart. May Heaven 
have mercy on me!" 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


93 


CHAPTER X. 

PRO AN^D CON. 

W E ALL of US stand more or less in awe of that 
mysterious ^^they^^ who have so much to say 
about everybody’s affairs, it matters not how defiantly 
we may declare we do not care a rush for what they 
say."" 

It is human nature to crave the goodwill of the world 
and dread its censure, let us reason never so philosophic- 
ally about the fallibility of human judgment and the 
all-sufficiency of the verdict our own conscience may 
render. 

And as Thersie Gordon was, after all, but a charming 
bit of human nature, subject to the whims and fancies 
that affect the majority of mankind, she was not as 
recklessly indifferent as her words would have implied to 
the possible gossip her visits at Mrs. Agnew"s might 
arouse. 

While securely and proudly conscious of the rectitude 
of her own motives in those visits, she was secretly very 
much annoyed at the prospect of having Everard 
Ballantyne’s name connected with hers in any way. 

Deny it to others as she might, she could not deny to 
herself that the danger really did exist. 

This was why Thersie"s smooth brow was puckered 
into most distressful wrinkles, while she absently 
stabbed the piece of canvas work she was presumed to 
be at work upon, and silently weighed the pros and cons 
of this terribly perplexing matter. 

Nearly three weeks had elapsed since the night of her 
fete, and she had seen neither Mamma Ballantyne nor 
her son since that night. 

It is true, a multiplicity of affectionate little notes. 


94 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


containing plausible apologies for her prolonged ab- 
sence, had found their way from Esplanade to Mrs. 
Agnew^s, to which tenderly reproachful answers had 
been returned. 

But the fact remained that the two friends — for 
friends they were, despite the great discrepancy in their 
years — missed each other dolefully. 

The question at issue was: Did she not owe more 
deference to the affection and the necessities of a lifelong 
friend than she did to the prejudices of that mythical 

They/'’ who was so impertinent and yet so terrible? 

^^Ever since I came from school,'’^ says Thersie, plain- 
tively defending her position, in the privacy of her own 
room, against accusers at large, ‘^‘'Emily’s mother-in- 
law has stood me in good stead of an own mother. How 
many times has she secretly finished the sewing task 
Emily has imposed on me, so that I might go with her 
to walk in Jackson Square instead of sitting mewed up 
over half-finished work! How many scoldings has she 
saved me by stealing into my room while I was having 
my own fun some way or other and setting my bureau 
drawers to rights because she knew Emily^’s inspection of 
them on Saturday night was sure and unsparing! How 
many times has she crept out of her own bed at mid- 
night and slipped across the hall to make sure I had not 
carelessly gone to sleep with the window open at my 
head! How many times has she stood between me and 
unjust blame or tart reproof from Emily, who is so aw- 
fully, tiresomely good! Oh, there’s just no use trying 
to define what Mamma Ballantyne has been to me! She 
has been everything to me, and I love her. Then what 
construction are they liable to put on this sudden cessa- 
tion of my visits — Mamma Ballantyne and Everard? 
Will it not warrant him — and he has his sex’s full share 
of conceit — in fancying that he is growing dangerous? 
that I am afraid to trust myself too freely to his fasci- 
nations? Absurd! Ridiculous! I am going there this 
very moment. I do not care what they say,” she con- 
cluded. 

Hence it was that Miss Gordon appeared suddenly 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


95 


before her sister, fully equipped for a walk, pulling on 
her gloves with an air of defiant resolution. 

Emily, I am going to Mrs. Agnew^s. I shall not be 
home to luncheon. Can I do anything for you down 
town?” she says. 

Mrs. Ballantyne glanced up from the letter she was 
writing in cold suprise. 

^‘1 had hoped,” she said in her most icy accents, 
“ that your sense of propriety, after the warning I gave 
you, would have been sufficient to put a stop to your 
intimacy in that quarter. I am sorry to find myself 
mistaken. Thank you, there is nothing you can do for 
me down town.” 

And she returned to her letter with an air of having 
quite finished with the nervous-looking girl in the door- 
way. 

“It^s very vexatious,” says Theresa, calmly, notwith- 
standing her evident perturbation, “that my visits to 
Mamma Ballantyne should actually have been made to 
appear improper; but as I consider that it would be de- 
cidedly the greater evil of the two to add to the hard- 
ness of her lot, and I know I do give her both comfort 
and pleasure, I certainly shall not give them up. Surely, 
Emily, you and I can afford to act a little independently 
of the dear, prying gossips. Good-by. I shall be at 
home to dinner, and please donT be uncomfortable about 
me.” 

The audible and energetic scratching of her sister’s 
pen, as it traveled in furious haste across her paper, was 
all the answer she received. 

In consequence of all which, it was not her very 
gayest face that she carried into Mamma Ballantyne’s 
presence after her long absence, despite her resolution 
,,and desire to afford the mother all the cheerful solace 
she could demand. 

Dear! dear! it does seem an age since you’ve been 
here!” the old lady cried, hastening forward to clasp 
her visitor in an eager embrace. “We have looked for 
you, and wished for you, and wondered over you almost 
every day,” 


96 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


“I have been acting hatefully, I know; and as it is 
not worth while fibbing to you. Mamma Ballantyne, I 
may just as well acknowledge that Emily has been trying 
to convince me that it is shockingly improper for me to 
come to you at all. I have stayed away long enough to 
satisfy myself which course I ought to pursue, and as I 
am here again, you can guess that I have no notion of 
allowing a little harmless gossip to come between you 
and me.'’^ 

Gossip!^'’ Mother Ballantyne repeated, innocently 
and wonderingly, for to have Thersie with her was so 
much a matter of course that she did not readily grasp 
her meaning. 

Yes, gossip! But I did not come here to make my> 
self hateful. Let us talk about yourself. What have 
you been doing, and what is going on in your big family 
here?’"’ 

And she laid aside her hat and gloves, took out the 
canvas work which, she said, she never allowed herself 
to be parted from, hoping that some of these days the 
flowers thereon would burst into bloom of their own 
accord, and settled herself for a good talk. 

Indeed and dearie, with one single exception things 
are going on just exactly as we found them on the day 
we came to examine the rooms. I really do believe Tve 
come to know the exact number of biscuit we all eat for 
breakfast, and the precise quantity of Crabgumbo con- 
sumed every day for dinner. Some how or other, too, 
we all seem to say the same things to each other every 
day. I cannot blame Everard for not spending more of 
his time with me than he does. It must be terribly try- 
ing to him to have to tell Judge Norment everyday what 
the City Council is about, and to talk to Mr. Quilp (I 
declare, Thersie, youVe fastened that name on the poor 
man until it comes more naturally to call him by it than 
by his own) about real estate value, and to Miss McAfee 
about Byron (she^s almost sure to talk Byron with her 
mouth full of turkey-stuffing) and so on. But Everard 
is such a gentleman; no one would suspect that he was 
not enjoying himself thoroughly. But it tells on him. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


97 


He is sure to go down town almost as soon as he can 
decently leave me. He says he feels suffocated and all 
that sort of thing up here. I am afraid they are too 
good for him.^^ 

And you, poor dear! do you mope these long even- 
ings out by yourself 

Not entirely. I spoke of one change. Our country 
girl has come. And, oh, Thersie! you must pass judg- 
ment on her. She is undoubtedly a character in her 
way. She is a great deal of company to me, and I be- 
lieve I am some use to her, although I am not the ad- 
viser I used to be. She is very young and handsome, an 
amiable creature, but fearless and independent almost to 
rudeness. She has so few acquaintances in the city that 
she spends a great deal of her time with me. Especially 
of evenings, when I select a book, and we read aloud by 
turns. She is so anxious to improve herself, that it is a 
real pleasure to me to feel as if I could aid her in any 
way. She is ever so anxious to meet you, although she 
declares she knows she shall be afraid of you.'’^ 

Afraid of me! and why?^^ asks Thersie, in honest 
wonderment. 

You will laugh when I tell you. She was standing 
in front of that picture of yours over the writing-desk 
yonder the first evening she spent with me, and she stood 
so long that I turned round to look at her, and found she 
had seated herself, folded her hands over her lap, ex- 
actly as yours are in the picture, and was evidently try- 
ing to imitate the exact turn of your head, too. 

‘^^What are you about, Fanny?" I asked, for she is 
such a child, dear, that I could not keep up the formal 

Miss "" after one or two efforts. 

She turned around with a blush and a laugh, then 
came back to her chair by me and said: 

have been trying to find out the difference be- 
tween that girl and myself. I had a picture taken the 
other day — some cabinet photographs to send home, and 
w^hen they came from the gallery I burned them every 
one up." 

(( ( ^Vhy?" I naturally asked. 


98 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


^Because/ she said making a ridiculous face at her- 
self in the glass, ^ they made a perfect fright of me, and 
I know I am not a perfect fright. But the trouble with 
me, Mrs. Ballantyne, is that I never know what to do 
with my hands or my feet, or, in fact, any part of me, 
when I have time to recollect that people are looking at 
me. Now, I know that girl in the picture yonder, over 
your desk, never suffers in that way. She looks so per- 
fectly at herself — her hands are folded as calmly on her 
lap as if she had just finished saying her prayers in a 
room all to herself. There is a far-away, peaceful look 
in her eyes, and a restful look about her pretty head, not 
at all as if she were staring at that horrid machine, with 
a man peering through the other end at her, wondering 
what sort of a picture she was going to make. And I 
know it is just that way with her in the flesh. Where I 
would be in a perfect fidget, twitching my shoulders, 
twirling my thumbs, thrusting my feetf)ut, and jerking 
them back, miserable all the while, because I am per- 
fectly sure I am making myself absurd, she would be 
sitting looking at me with those beautiful, calm eyes of 
hers, perfectly unconscious that she had any shoulders, 
hands or feet at all. Poor Wells! She used always to 
be preaching to me about the beauty of repose in a 
woman^s manner,^'’ but it never conveyed the slightest 
idea to me before. Now I understand.'’ 

I told her, dearie, that I was quite sure she would 
not be disappointed in you, and that I hoped you and 
she would come to be very good friends. Poor young 
thing! I pity her so very much. She has evidently 
lived among such rough people, and feels her own short- 
comings so deeply.'’'’ 

""Where is she now?"’ asks Thersie, with kindly 
interest. 

""At the Conservatory, I suppose; you know she is 
here for a course in French and music. You will not 
see her until after dinner. She seldom gets home before 
four o^clock. Now tell me what you are all doing in 
Esplanade.'’^ 

""Pretty much what we have been doing ever since I 


mUE TO EEESELF. 


99 


can recollect. Emily devotes herself to hei* housekeep- 
ing, her charities and letters to Emile. You know he 
left for Harvard the first of this month. Fred is ab- 
sorbed in business all day, and spends the most of his 
evenings dutifully at home, excepting on club-nights. I 
pretend to study a little, practice a good deal, work in 
an absent fashion, and am beginning to wonder what I 
am good for, any way. You know there^s no opera on 
hand just now, so we go out very little of evenings. 
We generally have company at home, however, and oh ! 
by-the-way, there are two new names added to our 
visitors’ list — gentlemen’s names, I mean — Mr. Daven- 
port and one Mr. Josiah Phillips.” 

“ Mr. Leslie Davenport! — Everard’s employer?” 

Yes. But more correctly speaking, he is Fred’s 
visitor. They are old friends, you know, and he comes 
to talk and smoke and play chess with Frederic, in the 
most humdrum style.” 

^‘1 am really glad to hear it. I never knew the 
young man myself, although I heard Frederic speak of 
his unhappy a&air at the time it occurred, but he has 
been so good to Everard that I feel a certain personal 
interest in him. Well, and your other visitor?” 

‘‘'The most ridiculous creature! All neck and inter- 
jections! I believe he does me the honor of admiring 
me. Mr. Josiah Phillips.” 

“ Lawyer Phillips’ son?” asked Mamma Ballantyne, 
with elevated brows. 

“Yes. Is not Emily’s complaisance toward that man 
a matter of wonderment? She not only permits the 
visits of this Mr. Phillips, but encourages them, and 
makes my life a burden to me if I do not assist her in 
the farce of a cordial welcome every time he chooses to 
inflict himself upon us.” 

“ Emily’s ways were always past finding out,” said 
the mother, growing prim and cool at mention of her 
daughter-in-law; “but I suppose she has good reasons 
for her conduct in this matter.” 

“I doubt it,” said Thersie, pointedly. “Strong 
reasons she may have, and evidently has; good ones she 


100 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


cannot have. But, there, do not let us discuss her 
behind her back; it is not generous.'’^ 

^MVe will not,^^ said the mother, resolutely. I am 
too glad to have you with me to feel harsh or unkindly 
toward any one. But Josiah Phillips! Who could have 
believed it? What presumption I"’"’ 

‘‘1 am afraid,"’"’ said Thersie, purposely leading her 
indignant friend away from, the obnoxious subject of 
Mr. Josiah Phillips, ^‘that I will not see your new friend 
on tliis visit, as I promised Emily faithfully that I would 
be at home to dinner, but if you can tell me which are 
her idle days, I shall make an especial call upon her. I 
can imagine what it would be to me to be cast adrift in 
this big selfish place without friends or acquaintances. 
Tell her, for me, I want her to love me and to put all 
ridiculous awe-inspiring impressions created by a flat- 
tered picture out of her head. We will never get on 
together at all, at all, if she begins by treating me like 
a lady-superior. I am so glad you have such a good 
substitute for me. I shall not feel so wretched about 
you after this, fancying Everard away and you moping 
by yourself.” 

^‘1 will tell her,” said the mother, anxiously; ^^but, 
Thersia, don"’t talk as if you were making preparations 
for another long absence. And what shall I tell Ev- 
erard for you? You've scarcely asked about him and 
are leaving no word for him.” 

‘^Of course, we know through Frederic, of his wel- 
fare,” she answered, with sudden coolness in her voice. 
Then impulsively winding her arms about the neck of 
her old friend, she added: Mamma Ballantyne, lePs 
marry Everard olf our hands; then I can have you to 
keep and to hold until death do us part. He is a ter- 
rible thorn in our flesh.” 

^^To whom, dearie?” the mother asked eagerly, look- 
ing wistfully up into the sweet face so close to her own. 

‘^Oh! I don't know! To your Miss Marsden, if she 
will have him,” said this audacious adviser, tying her 
hat-strings under her back hair, resolute upon keeping 
her word to Emily. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


101 


Then she ^Yent away, utterly unconscious of how 
deeply her careless words were to sink into most receptive 
soil. 

“Why not?” the mother mused. “She will not have 
him. Fanny would adore him. She is young, amiable, 
rich. Why not?” 


102 


TRUE TO HEB8ELK 


CHAPTEK XL 

SWEDISH COEA. 


M e. JOSIAH PHILLIPS" conviction that Thersie 
must be awful good/" because she had a class in 
Sunday-school, would have received powerful confirma- 
tion if he could only have followed that young lady into 
the basement room of the Jackson Street church some 
five or six months after he had impulsively declared that 
conviction to her. 

Xo obstruction in the way of weather, or of fatigue, 
or of fanciful indisposition was allowed to interfere with 
her regular attendance. The sweet gravity of the young 
teacher’s face; the devout earnestness she brought to bear 
upon the task of instruction; the vivid hold she seemed 
to be obtaining upon the hearts and understandings of 
the little ones she had taken in charge, filled the heart 
of the venerable superintendent with grateful admiration. 
So used was he to have this branch of gratuitous instruc- 
tion performed with an air of indolent patronage and 
languid indifference by those who taught in the Sunday- 
school as a sort of fashionable penance, a thing which it 
was well and genteel to do, as it could not possibly inter- 
fere with one’s pleasure in any way, and was a cheap way 
of paying one’s debts into the bank of moral obligations, 
whose checks were so frequently dishonored. 

Not to give Thersie more credit than was her due in 
this matter, the interest she was taking in her class was 
almost as much a matter of surprise to herself as of ad- 
miration to the superintendent. She was quite sure she 
did not love children with any overweening affection. 
Xor did the rather mixed group that clustered about her 
every Sunday appeal individually to her appreciation. 
They were from the poorer classes, and were neither 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


103 


particularly pretty nor unusually bright. She had un- 
dertaken it, she believed, as all the other girls of her ac- 
quaintance had, because it was the thing to do. But of 
late her Sunday-school scholars had stood in a new rela- 
tion to her. She was coming to look upon them as so 
many small comforters, and to regard the hours she spent 
with them as the one source of pure and unalloyed pleas- 
ure left her. 

In her home, a home that had never known the un- 
questioned and sanctified authority of a father or mother, 
things were going from bad to worse. Frederic had never 
been quite himself since his mother had virtually been 
driven from his roof. He was moody and reserved, and 
coldly dignified now always, his happiest moments seemed 
to be when Mr. Davenport was sitting in the little back 
parlor with him, either playing chess or talking in that 
low, pleasantly modulated voice, which was such a great 
charm of his. 

Thersie enjoyed those evenings, too, for he was almost 
certain to ask her to play to them, as he called it, 
while they played chess or talked, and it had come to be 
almost a matter of course for her to play by the hour 
in the dimly-lighted bay window where the piano was 
placed, so that the performer faced the occupants of the 
room. 

Thersie was one of those satisfactory performers who 
rarely needed her notes, but could play dreamily and 
sweetly on for hours with a tenderness and a soulfulness 
(if one may use such a word) that appealed straight 
' from the heart of the player to the heart of the listener 
(provided always he had one). 

But either purposely or accidentally Emily would, if 
she could without absolute rudeness, interfere with this 
placid sort of happiness. 

Her strange infatuation over that young Phillips, as 
the whole family began to regard her treatment of the 
lawyer^’s son, continued, and was made a source of per- 
petual endeavor on the one side and resistance on the 
other, w^hich embittered almost every moment of their 
sisterly intercourse. 


104 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


And then Mother Ballantyne — ‘^^she was not the 
woman she used to he/'’ to quote her own pathetic 
plaint. 

Everard^s happiness, the one aim and object of the 
unselfish mother heart, seemed so unattainable. Things 
seemed to go so ‘^contrariwise,^'’ she had moaned to 
Thersie in a burst of indiscreet confidence. 

“I never knew, dear, until I began to make, him 
notice Fanny Marsden, how deep a hold you had taken 
upon his affections. He seems to resent my trying to 
convince him that he hasnT a shadow of a chance with 
you."" 

Mother Ballantyne had said all this with a face that 
almost implored Thersie to tell her she was mistaken. 
But Thersie had only said, always tenderly mindful of 
the mother"s feelings: 

Mamma Ballantyne would it not be as well for you 
to think more of your own ease and comfort and leave 
Everard"s future to take care of itself? Sufficient unto 
the day, you know."" 

And there the matter rested. But, all the same, 
Thersie felt as if all the pleasure of going to Mrs. Ag- 
new"s was swallowed up by this “sentimental nonsense 
of Everard"s,"" as she spitefully and ungratefully regarded 
the young man"s regard for herself. 

“ So between them all they have made me wish I could 
ran avvay and never be heard of again,"" she sighed, as 
she found herself at the church-door. 

Shaking her head, as if by a physical effort she would 
cast from her every offending reflection, she passed under 
the low doorway that led into the class-room and took 
her place among her scholars. 

“Where is Swedish Cora?"" she asked, glancing over 
the heads of her class, as they bobbed and nodded on a 
level with the tall back of the pew, addressing her in- 
quiry to a pale-eyed, pale-haired little girl, who was 
eagerly waiting for permission to address the teacher. 

“And please. Miss Gordon, sister have met with a 
true bad accydent. She have fell from the top of a tall 
stepladder to the floor and have hurt her back so bad. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


105 


The doctors do say my poor sister will never walk 
again/-’ 

‘‘Ilorriblel But what was she doing in such a posi- 
tion ?’•’ 

She was helping our mother to wash the windows of 
the big house, and she did turn too suddent; and, dear 
Miss Gordon, my poor sister does suffer so much pain/'’ 

Thersie tenderly applied her own dainty hapdkerchief 
to the tears that started in the little Swede’s pale- blue 
eyes. 

There, Linda, maybe it won’t prove so bad a^ all 
that. ^ Doctors, even, sometimes make mistakes,” slie 
said, in her gentlest, softest voice. 

'‘'Yes’m! and dear Miss Gordon, she did tell me to 
say to you that Sunday would not seem like Sunday 
without a sight of your face and a sound of your voice, 
and if you would not think she was too very bold, she 
would be as happy as the terrible pain would let her be, 
if only you would come to see her.” 

Indeed I will,” said Thersie, smiling down into the 
anxious face of the petitioner; ‘‘ and if you would rather 
go back to Cora now than to stay, we will omit your les- 
sons in consideration that she may want you. I will go 
to see her as soon as school is dismissed. But you must 
tell me exactly how to find yoiir home.” 

^^Oh! if you please. Miss Gordon, if you’re going to 
be that very good, I may stay and show you the way, 
may I not?” 

So it was arranged, and after school was dismissed 
Theresa did not go up-stairs into the body of the church 
as was her usual custom, but taking the little Swede’s 
hand in hers, she started in the direction indicated by 
the child at so brisk a pace that the little one had to 
proceed at a semi-trot to keep up with her. 

With her vail down and her parasol up. Miss Gordon 
moved lightly and gracefully forward, thinking so 
deeply over her own many perplexities that she almost 
started when Linda, laying a detaining hand on her 
arm, panted, almost out of breath: We’re there, Miss 
Gordon/’ 


106 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Where asked Tliersie, coming to a sudden halt, 
and lowering her parasol to look about her. 

“'Home! To our house! Where sister Cora and 
mother and father lives. 

^^Home! Do you live in that house asked the 
young lady, pointing toward the stately mansion that 
she saw through the handsome iron fence before which 
Linda had stopped her. Her face wore a startled look 
as she gazed. 

^‘Oh, dear, no ma^m! That is the master^s own 
house. We have our home there. Is it not a pretty 
little home? Sister Cora did plant every one of those 
cypress- vines that do climb all over our porch. Poor 
Sister Cora! Will she ever plant another cypress-vine, 
do you think. Miss Gordon ?^^ 

Thus forcibly brought back to the object of her 
errand, Thersie asked, with what sounded like unreason- 
able asperity. 

“ How long have you lived here, Linda 

“I was born here — in that very room where you see 
the white curtain let down. Poor sister Cora does lie in 
there now.-’^ 

“ What is the mastePs name?^^ 

“ Indeed, Miss Gordon, it is just the master. That is 
what my father and my mother does call him,^^ she an- 
swered, looking with puzzled wonder into her teachePs 
clouded face. ‘^‘^And you are not angry with me for 
asking you to come so far, are you, dear Miss Gordon 
she added. 

“No, child, no! Did you ever see him?^^ 

“The master? No, ma^am.'’-' 

“Does he never come here?^^ 

“ The master? No, ma^’am.^^ 

“Are you quite sure you are telling me the truth, 
Linda ?^'’ 

“And, indeed. Miss Gordon, why for should I tell you 
a lie asked the child, her plain little face the perfect 
picture of wondering surprise. 

“ True. And I donT know why I should have asked 
you such a question, child. I beg your pardon for 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


107 


doubting you. Come, lead the way to where poor Cora 
lies.^’ 

And falling a little behind her guide, Thersie took 
herself roundly to task for being thrown into such an 
unreasonable flutter at thus unexpectedly flnding herself 
within the precincts of Mr. Leslie Davenport's deserted 
home. 

It was due, she presumed, to the different season, to 
the fact that it was now bleak November instead of 
flowery May, that the premises had looked so unfamiliar 
to her. 

The noble trees that had casif their green and shelter- 
ing arms all around and about the great square stone pile 
in the center of the inclosure, permitted her just a 
glimpse of the barred and shuttered doors and windows 
when she had driven by the place in spring, now wore 
many-colored garbs, and were dropping their brilliant 
autumn foliage softly and silently upon the still green 
sward beneath; for winter comes with slow and reluctant 
feet in the Queen City of the South, and summer's reign 
is long and peaceful. 

The dark foliage of the glossy evergreen shrubs, true 
to their mission, still clustered thickly around the lower 
rows of windows, hiding them from the vulgar public 
gaze. 

The yard was in exquisite order. Even as Thersie, 
led by "her pupil, moved across the lawn toward the 
gardener's cottage, they could see him, Sunday though 
it was, his form bent more by his occupation than hj 
years, coming slowly toward them, on his arm the little 
basket which he always carried, and into which he con- 
signed every dead leaf almost at the moment of its fall. 

That is my father now," said Linda, with filial 
pride. Does he not make the master's yard look 
pretty?" 

^^It is lovely!" Thersie answered, enthusiastically, and 
paused to satisfy her eye with the exquisite proportions 
of the grounds, with the character and location of the 
ornamental shade-trees, planted with such judicious ob- 
servance of the necessities of the house, which reared 
its majestic presence from their midst. 


108 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


There was a pathos in the silent beauty of this home, 
from which the angel of peace had fled in affright so 
many years before, that held the imaginative girl spell- 
bound. 

She stood upon the little porch, about which the 
cypress-vines, sheltered from the northern blasts, were 
still clustering in green luxuriance, forgetful of Swedish 
Cora, of Linda, of herself, of her errand, of everything 
but of Leslie Davenport's great disappointment in life — 
a disappoint man t, which she fancied, she could see 
traces of yet in his quiet reserve toward all womankind, 
his stern condemnatiorf of certain frivolous phases of 
fashionable life, a certain dogged subjection to what he 
must feel of the world's unsatisfied curiosity concerning 
his wife, his air of quiet, manly endurance, and his 
studious avoidance of any allusion to his past life more 
recent than the college life he and Frederic Ballantyne 
had shared in common. 

She was suddenly aroused to ner whereabouts by the 
sound of a petulant, feeble voice from within : 

Mother! and w'ill Linda never get home, do you 
think?" 

^^Yes, my poor little Cora, Linda has come, and I 
have come with her," Thersie said, and the sight that 
met her gaze as soon as she entered the house made her 
forgetful of all but her errand. 

The girlish form of Swedish Cora, bent and twisted 
with pain; the pallor of the sad, young face she had 
last seen as the merriest and rosiest in her class; the 
wistful eagerness of her welcome — all appealed so forc- 
ibly to the teacher's tender heart that she applied her- 
self with a will and right successfully to the task of 
making Sunday seem like Sunday" to the stricken 
girl. 

And you will come every Sunday, dear Miss Gor- 
don? Will you not say ^Yes?'" Cora asked, eagerly, 
holding her teacher's soft hand in both her fevered ones, 
as if she would force the reluctant consent from her 'be- 
fore she left. 

Thersie hesitated. Should she be cowardly enough to 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


109 


deny tins child what she pleaded for as a great boon 
because of the remote danger of meeting the master in 
his own grounds? 

But the gardener himself had just told her that he 
only wished the master -would take some interest in his 
own home; he had never entered the gates since him and 
the beautiful mistress had gone away together/^ Think- 
ing of all that as she looked down into the eager, plead- 
ing face, she promised to come — promised nervously 
and hesitatingly; but irrevocably. 


/ 


110 TRUE TO HERSELF. 


CHAPTER XIL 
""DOKifA Quixote!"" 

Y OU NEED not wait, Cavendish; I will close the 
office myself to-night."" 

The corresponding clerk in the house of Slocumb, 
Drew & Davenport turned half-round on his tall desk- 
stool at the sound of that quiet voice, which carried so 
much of command with its mildest accents. 

Mr. Davenport sat at his own desk nervously fingering 
some packages of paper upon it. His back was toward 
the clerk, who could gather nothing from the broad, 
motionless shoulders, the massive, well-poised head, nor 
the ‘unusual command just given. 

The short November evening was fast drawing to 
a close; already the street-lamps were glimmering feebly 
in the dusky gloaming. The busy sounds of the city"s 
daytime were growing gradually slighter and slighter. 
The other partners of the house had left at the usual 
hour and gone home to comfortable dinners in happy 
family circles. Cavendish had only been waiting for Mr. 
Davenport to do likewise before locking the great outer 
doors, when he, too, might hie homeward to the little 
house where the family circle was but recently begun in 
the person of a bright-eyed young wife and one small 
baby link. As it was, he only paused long enough to 
say, hat in hand: 

I hope you are not feeling out of sorts, Mr. Daven- 
port. I have fancied all day you were not — quite — 
yourself, you know. Or, if it"s any extra work you 
want done, I hope you don"t fell as if I wouldn"t be will- 
ing to stay over-hours to do it. You know, sir, that 
Eve got so much to be thankful to you for that I"d al- 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Ill 


most be glad if you would show me some way to prove 
my gratitude.” 

This was a long speech and a very presumptuous one 
for any one of Mr. Davenport^s employes to make. 

The merchant looked at him not unkindly, but simply 
said: 

Thank you, Cavendish. There is no extra work for 
you to do. If I ever have occasion for faithful and 
confidential services 1 will remember you. Now go.” 

So he found himself at last alone. It was not that 
pleasant solitude which is good for us all at times. His 
surroundings were such as to frighten away the spirits of 
dainty fancy or pleasant meditation. The great, bare, 
unfurnished outer office, from which he was only railed 
off, with its long sample-tables, looked gloomy and 
cheerless enough with the wooden shutters closed against 
the long, dusty windows. And all around and about 
him was the comfortless litter that accumulates so rapidly 
where only men do congregate. Waste-baskets spilling 
their overplus of old letters upon the cocoa-matting, 
cigar-stumps that had fallen short of the smokers care- 
less aim at the stove; little pools of black water that had 
dripped from half a dozen closed umbrellas, deposited 
in as many different spots — for the morning had been 
rainy: chairs here, there and everywhere, just as the 
occupants had risen from them; a tray full of dishes 
that had contained Cavendish^’s luncheon, which the boy 
from the restaurant would take away again in the morn- 
ing, and over it all the gray light of the dying day com- 
ing in through one long, dingy, unshuttered back 
window, that opened on to the roof of a coal-shed, which 
had apparently accumulated the debris of a hundred 
years upon its black, sooty roof. 

It was not a cheerful sort of a place, but apparently 
the man who was sitting at his desk, firmly erect, but 
careworn of face and gloomy of eye, was not in a mood 
to be affected pleasantly or otherwise by his inanimate 
surroundings. . 

He had found among his mail matter that morning a 
letter which up to the present moment he had not been 


112 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


able to muster courage to open. The delicate, flowing 
chirography was perfectly familiar to him. 

He knew that this letter had not been written without 
a motive — a motive and a powerful one. He felt con- 
vinced before breaking the seal that the contents of that 
letter would prove such as to endanger his mental 
equipoise. 

He had so long and so successfully schooled himself 
into the suppression of all emotion that he had not cared 
to risk any sudden strain upon it before others. 

This was why he had carried that daintily perfumed 
envelope about with him all day with unbroken seal, de- 
siring, and yet almost dreading the moment to come 
when all the rest of them would go away, and leave him 
at liberty to find out why she had written at all. 

The letter began abruptly, without any sort of address: 

“ Nothing but the hope that confession may terminate 
my durance vile could induce me to break my long-kept 
vow of silence. I acknowledge that in you I have found 
my superior in stubborn obstinacy. Look between the 
canvas and the wooden back of my portrait in the draw- 
ing-room at Paradise Lost,^ and you will find the pack- 
age which has cost so many people so dear — me more 
dearly than all the rest. Isadora Davekport.'’^ 

Wretched egotist the merchant said, bitterly, 
crumpling the sweet-scented paper roughly back into 
its envelope. ^^If there sis no other superiority for her 
to assume, she will claim it in the form of suffering. 
^ Cost her more dearly than all the rest What does she 
know of suffering — she, as devoid of all moral sense as 
the beautiful birds of her own tropical climate? Suffer- 
ing! It is ^ suffering ^ to her not to be able to stir the 
depths of other women^s hearts to their cores with bitter 
envy of her superior magnificence. It ^ costs her dear ^ 
not to have the eyes of the world fastened upon her 
beauty in adoring admiration. To wear a last yearns 
dress is ^ suffering to her. To see the color fade from 
a fayorite silken scarf will fill her eyes with tears of 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


113 


anguish. To know that the gay world of fashion, which 
was her heaven, is moving gayly on still, and- she for- 
gotten by it, is the cruelest pang she has yet endured. 
And at last, wliat does restitution mean but the hope 
of liberty? Is there any remorse, any compunction, any 
sorrow for wrong-doing, involved in this tardy act of 
justice? Not one atom. Self! self! self! From the 
cradle to the grave, self will be the one object of her 
adoration, her solicitude for self the motor of every 
word, thought and deed. Suffering! Let the butterfly 
imprisoned in a crystal bowl talk of suffering. Let a 
humming-bird, secured by a silken net bemoan its lost 
liberty. Beautiful, irresponsible, useless, they are all 
alike, only I do them cruel injustice by the comparison. 
Liberty is not dangerous to them; to her it is. ^Oost 
her dear!^ What has it not cost me? All the pride of 
name my father handed down to me; all my plans for 
future prominence in my position; all the hopes that 
cluster around a man^s own hearthstone — everything 
that makes life worth living to a man who does not 
worship money as a god! What do I know of the 
pleasures of home more than the veriest vagabond Jew 
money-lender, who is not happy out of sight of his three 
balls? What is my money to me if it cannot purchase 
me peace or happiness? What is my home to me if the 
shadow of so dark a shame rests upon it that even its 
outer walls are hateful to my eyesight? But now I must 
once more enter those darkened ruins — I must tread 
alone that Paradise Lost. Thank God ! that her selfish 
desire for liberty has made restitution possible. But she 
shall find that I am more than her equal in stubborn 
obstinacy, if so she chooses to call my resolution to pro- 
tect my name against the danger of being dragged afresh 
through the mire of a filthy scandal. Ye^ more than 
your equal, my beautiful serpent, my destruction, my 
wife! Good heavens! what a mockery!’^ 

The daylight had faded from the dusty window panes 
of the back window. Darkness had long since wiped 
the ugly coal-shed from view. The noisy precincts of 
Oarondelet Street had grown as quiet as it was in its 


114 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


nature ever to grow^, before Mr. Davenport aroused him- 
self from the profound reverie into which this letter had 
thrown him. 

At last he rose, straightened himself up, passed his 
hand once or twice through his hair, as if he would 
thoroughly arouse himself from the gloomy vein of 
retrospection into which he had been plunged, and 
stepped up to the gas jet over the mantel-shelf to look 
at his watch. 

'^Mne o^clock! And I promised McKenzie faith- 
fully to be with him by ten. Poor lad! what will he 
think of me? Ko time to go home for dinner. Home!^"’ 
he said aloud, bitterly, ^^an allotted chair at a well- 
appointed table, free to all who choose to pay a" liberal 
price. A hasty meal at one of the lunch-tables our faro 
benefactors so liberally spread must do me to-night, and 
McKenzie must wait for his friend and for his lessons.'’^ 

This was why, instead of taking a Carondolet Street- 
car on its way up-town, as was his habit, Mr. Davenport 
walked quickly toward St. Charles Street, intent upon 
carrying out his idea of a hasty meal at a public lunch- 
table, one being quite close to his office. 

As he was about to enter the brilliantly-lighted portal, 
his eye was attracted by a carriage that was standing not 
quite in front of, but just a little above, the door of 
entrance to this glittering hell. 

It was a public hack. The quiet attitude of the 
horses and the drowsy one of the driver on the box be- 
tokened long and patient waiting. There were two 
ladies inside; one closely veiled, but evidently on the 
alert; the other unveiled, but so hidden by the shadows 
of the night that her features were undistinguishable. 

Was it fancy, or did he hear his own name called in a 
soft, hesitating voice? He stood motionless for a second. 
It must have been fancy. Ko sound came from the 
veiled figures again. He pushed the glass doors open, 
letting a fiood of light fall upon the vehicle and its 
occupants. They quickly shrank into the obscurity of 
the carriage. 

^^What right have I to be prying upon them,^^ he 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


115 


murmured, as lie closed the doors again and passed on 
to the always ready tables. Overhead he could hear the 
shufflins: sound of many feet, and hear the click-clack 
of the billiard-balls. 

A low murmur of voices penetrated to where he sat 
eating with what little appetite his letter had left him. 
He knew that in the up-stairs rooms, made attractive by 
every device of the upholsterer, luxurious with rich car- 
peting, glittering with numberless mirrors, blazing with 
a thousand jets from crystal chandeliers, intoxicatingly 
perfumed with potted exotic plants, a gambling-hell was 
in full blast, and that men w^ere up there staking their 
all, their money, their morals, their homes, their hopes 
of Heaven, upon the cast of a die or the turn of a 
wheel. 

But Leslie Davenport was too thorough' a man of the 
world to sit there mixing lugubrious moral reflections 
with his salad-dressing. He knew that — 

“ As long as man has passions 
As long as life has woes,” 

such things would be, and he had no turn for preaching 
nor for playing universal reformer. Whatever good to his 
fellow-men his hand found to do, he did with his might, 
that was all. So he dispatched his dinner quickly, with 
a view to visit McKenzie, one of the fellow-creatures to 
whom he had long, in a quiet and unostentatious way, 
been doing a world of good. 

He had not thought of the carriage and its veiled occu- 
pants since closing the door upon them; his thoughts had 
been almost exclusively upon the letter he had been read- 
ing, upon the writer of that letter, and upon the neces- 
sity it laid upon him of once more entering that ujD-town 
house whose threshold he had never expected to cross 
again so long as things remained as they were. 

Opening the door suddenly the light once more fell in 
a pitiless flood upon the motionless carriage, the patient 
horses and the drowsy driver. 

This time he could not be mistaken. That was un- 
doubtedly Thersie Gordon^s eager, anxious face that had 


116 


TRUE TO HEBSELF. 


given one startled look toward the opening door, and then 
shrunk hack into the shadow once more. 

A fierce spasm of inward rage and indignation seized 
suddenly upon the m^n, who, to all appearances, stood 
there in the door-way of the lunch-room quietly looking 
out upon the lamp-lighted streets. 

His first impulse was to go in the direction he had pro- 
posed to himself a few minutes before and leave this mad 
girl to her own fate. 

^^Her infatuation for that handsome scamp is abso- 
lutely disgusting he said, between his tightly clenched 
teeth. But — she is Frederic Ballantyne^s sister," his 

better-self counseled. ^^She belongs to Freda’s home- 
circle. Fred has been to me all that one man could be to 
another all our lives. She shall not disgrace him, if I 
can help it." 

If they had explained it all to him word for word, he 
could not have understood it better. 

Although he had known that Everard Ballantyne was 
in the habit of gambling, being no purist, he had con- 
sidered it none of his business, so long as he was on hand 
to attend to his allotted duties. These foolish women 
were waiting there to take him home with them. 

^^Bah!" was his mental ejaculation, ^^what a waste of 
womanly devotion!" 

Calmly stepping up to the vehicle, he laid his hand 
upon the handle of the door, and said, in his coldest, 
quietest voice: 

‘‘1 cannot be mistaken in supposing these ladies to be 
Mr. Ballantyne’s mother, and his friend. Miss Gordon!" 
(Poor Thersie! in her gentle heart she hated Everard 
Ballantyne at that moment.) Permit me!" he added, 
and with an order to the drowsy driver to move on, he 
quietly entered the vehicle and. placed himself in front 
of its occupants. 

^^Oh! dear, good Mr. Davenport," began the mother, 
pleadingly, ^‘'surely you are not going to make us go 
away without waiting for him! Such a time, too, as we 
have had to find out where he was. Tell him, Thersie 
— tell him, dear, how you found me almost broken- 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


117 


hearted because my boy is growing fonder and fonder 
of this awful play. lie has not been home at all to-day, 
Mr. Davenport, and this dear child here tried to make 
me think it was best to wait for him to come home and 
not to try to find him. But Thersie is not a mother, 
Mr. Davenport, and neither are you, so how can either 
one of you tell what it is for a mother to sit quietly at 
Jiome! Ah, Heaven! I have only too much of the ter- 
rible quietness, and I wait — I — for my boy to come 
home, while all the time I do not know what may be 
happening to him, or how badly he may be needing me. 
Oh, Thersie, what has come over you that you will not 
open your mouth to help me tell Mr. Davenport how it 
is!^'’ 

But never a word came from the shrinking, veiled 
figure in the corner of the carriage. Either she could 
not find one word of defence for this mad expedition, or 
she scorned to vindicate herself and lay all the blame on 
the poor, feeble shoulders of the mother whom she had 
found almost crazed with apprehension, and whom she 
had only consented to accompany when every argument 
against going had been resolutely set at naught. 

Leslie Davenport waited with a strange eagerness tug- 
ging at his heart for Thersie^s vindication of herself. If 
she would only say one word to convince him that he 
had not overestimated her Avhen he had pronounced her 
gentle, good, true and pure. But no word came. Either 
obstinacy or shame closed her lips. 

^‘All alike! all alike !^^ he thought, cruelly coupling 
her for one short while with the beautiful destroyer of 
his faith in womankind. 

Then he said to Everard^s mother, gently, kindly, 
very pityingly: 

^^I think you have not acted quite wisely, Mrs. Bal- 
lantyne; but, as you say, it is hard for me to enter fully 
into your feelings. As soon as I have seen you ladies 
safely home I will myself return for Everard. He is 
fortunate in being the object of such tender solicitude.'’^ 

Poor Thersie! The sarcastic ring of his voice on that 
last sentence smote upon her sensitive heart harshly. 


118 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


She knew he meant it for her. Knew he meant it in 
hitter condemnation of her course. Knew it, and dared 
not say one word to soften the bitterness or lessen the 
condemnation. 

A painful silence fell upon the little group, broken 
soon by Mrs. Ballantyne's plaintive voice, pitched high 
to convey her meaning to her hearers, despite the noisy 
cobble-stones over which they were jolting roughly and 
slowly. 

^‘1 am sure it is very good of you to promise me 
that; but if I\e made you think the worse of my boy 
for this night^s work, Mr. Davenport, I am sure Thersie 
was right in trying to make me stay at home. Oh, I^m 
afraid my judgment is not what it used to be. Thersie, 
are you asleep?'’^ she asked, suddenly and querulously 
turning to the quiet figure by her side. 

^^Ko, Mother Ballantyne; but please leave me to my- 
self.^^ 

There was such a pitiful ring in the young voice, that 
Leslie Davenport had always associated with the singing 
of birds, or any other sound that suggested cheer, and 
light and happiness, that his hot wrath against her 
melted away suddenly and entirely — she is very young 
and very ignorant, he thought, excusing her to himself. 

‘^Well, then,^^ continued the mother, bent, it would 
seem, upon proving that her judgment was not what it 
used to be, ‘^you are not angry with me for persuading 
you to come with me. Dear, dear, Ifil soon not have a 
friend left in the world. She said it was a fooBs errand, 
Mr. Davenport, and that was the hardest thing I ever 
heard Thersie say. But when she found I had sent for 
the hack, and was going by myself, she consented to go 
with me. You have no idea how much better it made 
us feel to see you going in there. I am not sure I 
should have noticed you at all, for I had sent a note in 
to Everard, and was watching very eagerly for my mes- 
senger to come back, when I heard Thersie saying almost 
as if to herself, ^ It cannot be such a terrible place if he 
goes there, ^ and when I asked her who, she said, ^ Mr. 
Davenport/ Now, didiBt you, Thersie 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


119 


Oh, Mamina Ballant3rQe, won^t you please just leave 
me out of your narrative!” came from behind Thersie's 
veil, with almost a sob. 

‘‘1 am sure,” said Mr. Davenport, speaking rather 
more quickly than usual, in order to prevent a resump- 
tion of confidence on the mother^s part, that it was 
very good of Miss Gordon to express so favorable an 
opinion of her brother's friend. I had rather, though, 
she should have had no opportunity to make her obser- 
vations in that locality. I believe this is Mrs. Agnews’s 
gate,” he added as they halted suddenly. 

You are coming in with me, Thersie, are you not?” 
Mrs. Ballantyne asked, pausing just inside the gate. 

You might stay with me all night, you know. Then 
we sha^nT be giving Mr. Davenport any more trouble. 
I^m sure he has been very good to us both. HasnT he, 
dear?” 

No,” she answered, quickly and nervously. ^'It is 
getting late. Emily will wonder at my absence. Mr. 
Davenport I thank you very much for your kindness to 
us. Good-night to you both.” 

And drawing her wraps quickly about her shoulders 
and head she sped away from them with the swiftness of 
a swallow. 

She had traversed scarcely two blocks before she heard 
a quick, ringing footfall close behind her, and in an- 
other second Leslie Davenport had quietly drawn her 
little, trembling hand within his arm as he asked: 

Child, what do you mean?” 

Then Thersie — brave, self-reliant, spirited little Ther- 
sie — broke down all in a second. One great, irresist- 
ible, irrepressible sob was all the answer she gave him. 

Poor little thing! you overrated your own nerve in 
this foolish undertaking. But why did you run away 
just now? Did you think, Donna Quixote, that you 
could leave me behind if I chose to be your escort home?” 
he asked. 

I am not one bit afraid,” Thersie answered, mopping 
her eyes and clearing her voice. There^s a policeman 
at almost every corner. I knew anybody who chose to 


120 


TR UE TO HERSELF. 


s^ive me a second glance would think I was some sewing- 
girl going home, and — and I wanted not to have to talk 
to you/^ 

And why?^^ 

Because if I talked to you at all about to-night I 
would have to place more blame on those poor shoulders 
of Everard^s mother than belongs there. I should have 
kept her at home. I should have stayed at home myself. 
And then — and then — 

And then?^'’ he asked, bent upon making her define 
her own position without any assistance from him. 

And then — and then I would never have given you 
the right to think of me as you do to-night. To think 
me hot-headed and foolish, else you would not have 
called me Donna Quixote. Emily calls me that when 
she is censuring me most severely.'’^ 

‘‘'How do you know what I think of you to-night? 
Will you let me tell you fairly and frankly?’'’ 

“ Yes,” she answered softly, almost eagerly. 

“ I think that on all ordinary occasions of life your 
judgment is apt to prove quick, clear, excellent and 
trustworthy. I think in emergencies where it is a moot 
question'' between the head and the heart you are liable 
to err on the tender side, as you did to-night. There- 
fore, Donna Quixote, promise me — promise me here 
to-night, as you and I stand alone, with the pure, 
serene stars for our only witnesses, that if ever again 
you are called upon to do such service as you essayed 
to-night you will take counsel first with some older and 
cooler head than your own.” 

“ I have no one to take counsel with,” the girl an- 
swered sadly enough. 

“ Frederic.” 

“ Poor Mamma Ballantyne is so afraid that Ered will 
separate her from Everard that she has sworn me to pro- 
found secrecy before him.” 

“Your sister.” 

“Emily? We do not think alike on any one subject. 
We are drifting further and further apart everyday. It 
may be my fault — I expect it is — but I cannot help it.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


121 


With me, then, as your best friend, unless, in- 
deed ’’ 

lie paused. 

‘^Unless?” Thersie repeated, facing toward him, and 
looking up at him with eyes that shone like the stars he 
had just invoked. 

Unless, indeed, Everard Ballantyne has an estab- 
lished right to such devotion. 

^^No, no, no!’"* she answered, vehemently. 

Then, with a true woman’s facility for changing her 
moods, she asked, with sudden haughtiness: 

But by what right does Mr. Davenport ask such 
searching questions?” 

By the right that every true man holds to protect 
your sex from unknown dangers! By the right my long 
and affectionate intimacy Avith the brother-in-law, who, 
in the eyes of the Avorld, is your protector, gives me. 
By the right I have just laid claim to, as your true and 
Avell-meaning friend. By the right my Avorldly knowl- 
edge and superior age gives me over your youth and 
ignorance! Have I read my title clear. Miss Gordon? 
or must I manufacture a polite falsehood, tell you I am 
sorry for my impertinent interference to-night; beg your 
pardon for having acted by you, just as I Avould have 
thanked Fred for acting by a sister of mine; promise to 
sin no more and make you my best parlor salaam.” 

Oh, no. You have been so good and patient with 
me to-night that I am sure you Avill forgive me that last 
petulant outburst. I thank you very, very^ much,^ Mr. 
Davenport, for what you have done and said to-night. 
I have so long regarded it almost as a pious duty to 
cheer and comfort and help Mamma Ballantyne, that I 
suppose my judgment is Avarped Avhere she is concerned. 
I Avill remember, and I Avill gladly, thankfully, take 
counsel Avith my — best friend.” With the last Avords 
she placed her hand in his and gave it the softest little 
pressure. 

Then they Avalked on in peaceful, satisfied silence, 
both feeling as if they had come to knoAV each other 
very thoroughly during that short Avalk. 


122 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


I am not going to ask you in/^ said Thersie, when 
they reached her sister^s door. ^^Your bringing me 
home would involve me in a labyrinth of questions and 
answers that I do not feel equal to to-night.^’’ 

You are equal to answering one more from me, are 
you not? Am I mistaken in thinking I heard some one 
call me from that carriage to-night?'’^ 

^^No. You are not mistaken. I called you/^ she 
said, bravely and simply. . 

And why r 

That makes two,^^ she answered, lightly, to cover 
her confusion. called you — because — I felt — as 

if — no harm could come to me if you were very near.'’^ 

- Thank you, Donna Quixote — thank you very much,^’ 
he said, and went away with a quicker footfall and a 
lighter heart. 


TRUE TO HER8ELF, 


133 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE TOILS. 

I X COMPLIANCE with his promise to old Mrs. Bal- 
lantyne, Leslie Davenport returned immediately to 
the rooms where, he had her word for it, he should find 
Everard. 

As the life of such places only begins with the obscurity 
of night, he found no thinning of the mixed crowd he 
had left there, rather a thickening. 

Passing through the lower rooms, where the tempt- 
ingly arrayed edibles were always displayed as bait for 
the foolish and the ignorant, he mounted the broad, 
softly-carpeted stairway that led to the apartments above 
where the raison d'etre of the generous free lunches 
below stood revealed in all its fatal fascinations. 

He was perfectly familiar with all the ramifications of 
the house. Holding, that purity does not so much con- 
sist in the ignorance of evil, as in the avoidance of it 
when understood, he had never feared to face any of its 
varied manifestations when they came in his way un- 
sought as they had done to-night. 

Leslie Davenport^s was one of those strong, pure, self- 
reliant natures that could walk through the valley of the 
shadow of sin and yet fear no evil. 

He only gave one cursory glance into the billiard-room. 
It was not there that he would find the man who had 
grown so completely oblivious of time, of filial duty, of 
every obligation of honor! 

He passed, without even a cursory glance, the small, 
well-appointed apartment, where were gathered together 
a few sedate groups quietly enjoying the mild stimulus 
of whist or euchre. It was not among these wifeless, 
homeless, but respectable old bachelors, who found their 


124 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


recreation in this harmless fashion, iinvitiated by any 
wild excitement or mad desire for gain, that Everard had 
sat enthralled ever since leaving the office in Carondolet 
Street. 

So he passed steadily on toward the long, many-win- 
dowed front room, where the lights were brightest, where 
the crowd was thickest; where the clouds of stale tobacco 
smoke; the mingled odors of dying flow^ers and vinous 
breaths; the boisterous shouts of triumph and the de- 
spairing curses at defeat; the eager, loud-voiced choice 
of rouge or noir silenced only by the clear, high-pitched, 
inexorable le jeu est fait — all combined to make a veri- 
table pandemonium. There he felt sure he should find 
Everard Ballantyne! 

Leaning leisurely against the pedestal of one of the 
fluted columns that stretched throughout the center of 
this glittering inferno, supporting the arched and frescoed 
ceiling, he sent his eyes in search of the brand that he 
had so rashly promised to snatch from the burning. 

Not that it will do any permanent good, he was 
saying to himself, ‘‘'but it may bring intermission of 
trouble to that poor mother^s heart up-town, and, who 
knows! perhaps to that Childs’s, unwilling as she is to 
acknowledge that this handsome weakling has any hold 
upon her affections.^’’ 

Many a curious and surprised glance was directed 
toward the broad-shouldered, firmly-knit figure of the 
spectator, as against his resting-place he leaned with a 
smile of contemptous pity lurking about his unbearded 
lips as his large brilliant hazel eyes coolly glanced over 
the noisy, expectant groups within. 

The hungry eagerneiss of the gamesters, their passion- 
flushed faces, their losses and their gains, were alike 
matters of perfect indifference to him. Not until his 
gaze rested upon the slender, graceful form of his young 
clerk did that hard, cold look of icy indifference die out 
of his eyes and give place to one of pitiful compassion. 

But still he did not move. Every action and every 
decision of this man’s life partook of cool, calm deliber- 
ation (always and forever with the one notable excep- 


TRUE TO UERSELF. 


125 


tion of liis marriage). With folded arms, and entirely 
unobserved by the object of his espionage, he watched 
Everard through one entire revolution of the game ! 

Leaning eagerly forward, with his elbows planted 
upon the green-baize of the table before him, and his 
chin supported by both hands, his hat pushed far back 
on his head and his curling black hair wdldly disordered 
about his face, which was Avhite to a pallid degree, he sat 
there a perfect impersonation of the thrall of the 
gaming-table. 

His large dark eyes glowed like live coals in their 
sockets; one feverish spot on either cheek only intensi- 
fied his pallor. 

.His lips were drawn until they formed but one livid 
line beneath his drooping mustache. Save for the burn- 
ing intensity of his gaze and the nervous twitching of 
his fine, thin nostrils, he might have been a carven 
image, so motionless was he in his wrapt attention upon 
the game. 

The result was declared. He had lost ! 

AVith a mirthless laugh he leaned back for a second 
only against the tall back of his chair, the better to ex- 
amine his depleted pockets. 

For that one second nature asserted herself, and 
stamped such a look of absolute physical exhaustion 
upon the young face that more than one eye rested in 
pity upon the handsome, reckless boy. 

He was soon ready to dare the fickle goddess again. 
Drawing himself up with a gesture indicative of reckless 
determination, he hastily pushed the intruding locks 
from off his damp forehead, and leaned forward with re- 
newed eagerness. 

At that moment a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, 
and a quietly authoritative voice said in his ear: 

Everard, you must come with me.'’^ 

Angrily shaking the hand off, he turned haughtily 
upon this meddler who had dared to dictate to him as to 
whether he should go or stay. 

^^Mr. Davenport he exclaimed, with more surprise 
than anger. 


126 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Yes, I want you. 

This authoritative demand struck harshly on Ever- 
ard^’s over-excited nerves. 

These are not office hours, sir. Are your Gierke’s 
evening pastimes liable to the same strict espionage you 
exercise over their hired hours he asked insolently. 

An angry flush mounted to the merchant's brow; but 
the tired, haggard young eyes upraised to his pleaded 
for pity, despite their owner’s weak swagger. 

He answered more mildly than he had at first- spoken : 
come from your mother. Did you not receive a 
message from her early in the evening?” 

Heavens! why will she do so?” Everard exclaimed. 

Opening his tightly-closed hand, he displayed the 
crumpled bit of paper that he had not even taken time 
to unfold. 

“li is too late now, I suppose,” he said. ^‘^One more 
turn, and I will go.” And he turned impatiently back 
toward the table. 

Then, all unwilling as he was to utter Theresa Gor- 
don’s pure name in that vile atmosphere, Leslie Daven- 
port stooped over the infatuated man, and in a voice too 
low for others to hear, said sternly: 

Did you know that your mother and Miss Gordon 
had been waiting for you in a hack in the street below 
— waiting no one knows how many hours — running they 
knew not themselves how many chances of insult?” 

Good Heaven! What a beast I am!” was Everard’s 
anguished reply. 

And without another word he rose from the table, and 
in silent humiliation followed Mr. Davenport’s lead. 

^MVhere are they?” he asked hoarsely, as they reached 
the outer door and no vehicle was to be seen. 

I took them home.” 

Thank you. It was very good of you, Mr. Daven- 
port. ^ And, sir, I beg your pardon for my impertinence 
up-stairs.” 

^^That is already forgotten,” said his employer, kindly. 
^^And now, as our way lies together for some distance 
up-town, suppose we walk on.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


127 


Had he been alone, as he would infinitely have pre- 
ferred being, Everard would assuredly have returned to 
the lunch rooms to take some very much needed suste- 
nance, for since leaving the office at four o^clock he had 
taken no nourishment, and what with the excitement 
and the prolonged fast he was tremulous with nervous 
prostration. 

For drink he had no more appetite. The mad desire 
for gain, begun in a foohsh dream of suddenly and bril- 
liantly retrieving the fortune he had been so unjustly 
deprived of, had taken coinplete possession of his soul. 

But, as it was, he complied without objecting. 

For the short half hour that they walked slowly home- 
ward through the silent and deserted streets, Mr. Daven- 
port resolutely ignored their relative positions of employer 
and employed, and talked to the ‘contrite youth at his 
side with the kindly freedom of a friend. 

‘^You know, Ballantyne,^^ he said, after listening 
patiently to Everard’s passionate denunciation of him- 
self, I hold that we are all free agents and are the 
artificers of our own for^nes to a greater degree than 
our indolent natures incline us to think we are. In spite 
of the lugubrious satisfaction men take in abusing fate 
and groaning over their luck, they are free agents to make 
or mar their fortunes and their lives to a very consider- 
able extent. I do not say there are not exceptional cases, 
where a lifetime of patient energy and upright morality 
fails of success. But we are not dealing with exceptions 
just now. You are very young yet, you have had one 
mishap to befall you, one setback, we will call it, in the 
struggle up-hill. But to most of us the labor of life is a 
good deal like the task of Sisyphus, and you know, my 
boy, when we are just starting out on this tiresome jour- 
ney of life we are apt to get a little confused over the 
strangeness of the path, the multiplicity of the cross-roads 
and the many dark and crooked by-ways. The sign- 
boards of the moralists do not always read quite clearly. 
Do not always warn us of pitfalls in the way. In such 
cases it is nothing more than the part of humanity for 
him who has been up and down in the world long enough 


128 


TETIE TO HERSELF. 


to discover which are the safe and practicable thorough- 
fares, to warn him who has that knowledge yet to acquire, 
if he sees him blundering into a blind alley that will lead 
to no thoroughfare. , You^ve turned into a dark and 
crooked alley, lad, one that will lead you very far astray 
from the paths of peace and pleasantness. I offer you a 
very friendly warning. 

I know what you mean,^'’ said Everard, and I ought 
to be very .grateful, I suppose, for the interest you take 
in me.'’^ 

don^t know that you oi\ght,'’'’ the other answered, 
coolly, stopping under a street-lamp to consult his watch. 

I have known for some time that you played, but so 
long as it did not interfere with the service you owed me 
I did not consider it any of my business, nor should I 
yet have regarded it so, if I had not been brought face 
to face so unexpectedly with the wretchedness it was 
already working for others. On the contrary, I believe I 
owe you an apology for having made myself so active in 
your affairs. Our roads separate here. Giood-night. 
Forget as much as you choose of what I have said to 
you to-night, excepting my warning about the alley. 

I wonder, said Everard, looking almost wistfully 
into the strong calm face of ' the man before him, ^^if 
such things as extenuating circumstances will be taken 
note of in the grand final balancing of the book of morals. 
If yes, perhaps justice will be tempered with mercy in 
my case."’"’ 

What is your case?” asked Leslie Davenport, almost 
sternly. 

The case of a man who has been sent to the devil 
by the saints of this world. Bah! if you had been 
tutored, and lectured, and badgered, and watched over, 
and prayed over, and groaned over, as I have been ever 
since I can recollect, you would either be convinced that 
the devil had held your soul in fee-simple from the hour 
of your birth, or you would turn your attention to sin- 
ners as a delightful and refreshing variety, as I have 
done. I can scarcely grasp your theory of free agency, 
so little practical illustration of it has been allowed me, 


mUE TO HERSELF. 


129 


np to the time 'when I was informed that my money had 
been taken from me, and I was a free agent to go to the 
dogs in my own way/^ 

Yon are worn out just now, Ballantyne. Physically 
you are exhausted, and mentally you are suffering, in 
consequence of which, morally you are all awry, and talk 
like a sick child. You will hold different sentiments after 
sleeping and resting. At least it is to be hoped so, for 
the sake of all concerned. Once more, good-night. 

Everard walked slowly on when left to himself. Now 
that the fumes of his passionate excitement had passed 
from his brain, and reason had resumed her throne, he 
stood appalled at the mischief his own hand had 
wrought. 

A premeditated act of villainy would have made 
Everard Ballantyne recoil with disgust and indignation. 
And yet, what milder term than villainy could be ap- 
plied to his own night’s work? Meaning only to stake 
a small and safe amount of his own earnings, he had 
been sucked into the maelstrom, and whirled around 
and around madly, brainlessly, recklessly, until, rescued 
by Leslie Davenport, and then left by him with the cold 
midnight air blowing about him, slowly cooling his 
brain until the fact that he had gambled away a fearful 
portion of what belonged to his mother stared him, in 
its true hideousness, in the face. 

^‘Villain! villain! villain!” he groaned, aloud, and 
reaching out his hand for some visible support he clasped 
the cold iron railing of the fence about Tivoli Circle. 

Almost tottering through the open gate, he flung him- 
self upon one of the iron benches, and, burying his head 
in his hands, gave himself up to the most agonizing 
meditation. 

^^Poor mother! — poor old mother! — how can I go 
back to her and tell her that the money she gave me 
this morning with so much pride to pay for the cottage 
where she was to make a real home ’ for her and me is 
gone? — gone! — gambled away in that hell! Why did 
she trust me with it? What fiend tempted me with the 
hope of doubling it, and paying for the house myself? 


130 


mUE TO HER SELF. 


Wliat devil incarnate whispered to me that it would be 
a good thing for her? How did I reason myself into 
calling it a legitimate speculation? Why did I fortify 
my villainous resolution with claiming that all specula- 
tion was gambling? That I was no worse than the man 
who cast dice at the church-fairs; no worse than the 
solid men who build up their fortunes in futures; ^ no 
worse than the man who stakes his money on any result 
of the future? All gamblers — every one of them! Par- 
sons, doctors, lawyers, merchants, gentlemen and 
rogues — weTe all gambling! — gambling on the future of 
men^s souls! — gambling on the chances of a cure or a 
kill! — gambling in quibbles for acquittals! — gambling on 
invisible crops! — gambling in Wall Street in millions! — 
gambling in back alleys on nickels! Alleys! Leslie 
Davenport warned me! My alley is very dark and very 
crooked. It has indeed already led me far away from 
the paths of pleasantness and peace. 

Clearly through the still night-air rang the police- 
mane’s baton in three steady strokes, answered by one 
close by, then by another, and another still further off. 
But Everard Ballantyne still sat there, oblivious of time 
and of his own strange whereabouts. 

How long he sat there he never knew. A rough hand 
was laid upon his shoulder, and a blue-capped guardian 
of the night stooped to peer under his hat rim. It 
thoroughly aroused him. 

Neither drunk nor disorderly, friend, he said, ris- 
ing wearily to his feet. I thank you for stirring me 
up, though.'’^ 

And with the courtesy which never forsook him he 
bade the watchman good-night, and without further 
pause or delay soon gained the small side-gate at Mrs. 
Agnew^s, through which he was able to ascend to his 
own rooms in the wing of the house without disturbing 
"" the saints, as, in his rebellious moods, he classified 
his fellow-boarders. 

He was conscious of a feeling of thankfulness that he 
would not have to encounter his mothePs eyes and her 
pathetic, gentle reproaches that night. 


TRUE TO HER SELF. 


131 


He almost staggered into his own room. His brain 
seemed on fire again. He felt strangely giddy. A 
deathly nausea came upon him. He flung himself upon 
the bed, sick and wretched. Even when his eyes closed 
in unrestful . slumber his fevered lips continued to 
mutter: 

Poor mother! — poor old mother! — gentle, good, for- 
' giving! Cried yourself to sleep— all for a villain! — such 
a weak, pitiful sort of a villain! ThaPs right, Emily, 
send Emile out of the room! Villainy is catching; he 

might, you know A villain! — a most unhappy, 

contrite villain! Poor old mother! Fred! come here, 
old boy! — closer — stoop down — let me whisper. Don^t 
tell Thersie! — don^t let Thersie know! Pll make it all 
right yet! Who called me a thief? Poor old mamma! — 
cried herself to sleep! Thank you, Davenport! YouVe 
warned me! 1^11 remember! The alley! Yes! the 
alley is dark and crooked — very dark and very crooked! 
I cannot see my way out of it! Hey, policeman! say, 
tell me where I am!^^ 

Everard Ballantyne was in a raving delirium. 


13 ^ 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


CHAPTER XIV; 

A COKTKETEMPS. 

I T WAS the day before Christmas. So the almanac 
declared^ and so the crisp, frosty, wintry air admitted; 
and so the marvelous and gorgeous display that converted 
the windows and showcases of the toyshops and confec- 
tioners down town into so many veritable glimpses of 
wonderland certified; and so the joyous air of expec- 
tancy and the laborious attempts at secrecy pervading 
all ranks bore witness unto. 

But, all the same, it did not feel one particle like 
Christmas,'’^ was Theresa Cordon^s lugubrious conclu- 
sion as, Avith something of an effort, she extracted her 
own feet and hands and working implements from a 
multitude of other feet and hands and implements, 
which had been piously and uncomfortably busy during 
the day Avith a wilderness of greenery that had to be 
converted into so many holy reflections and moral re- 
minders for the edification of Christmas church-goers 
before the next day. 

Mrs. Frederic Ballantyne was always a conspicuous 
object on these occasions. Her wealth, position and 
acknowledged good taste made her a chosen leader in all 
such undertakings. 

She had just come with a basketful of fern leaves and 
calla lilies for the decoration of the marble baptismal 
font, and Avas applying herself to that masterpiece. 

Mr. Josiah Phillips was acting in the humble capacity 
of basket-carrier Avhen Thersie made the above recorded 
melancholy reflection close at her sister’s elboAV. 

Yes; but, y’know,” says Josiah, essaying the role of 
comforter, Chris’mus ain’t here yet; yes, hut’s true, 
she’ll feel better to-morroAv, Avon’t she?” this in a confi- 
dential undertone to Emily. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


133 


The mysterious prophecy was not lost upon the sub- 
ject of it, who simply honored the obnoxious prophet 
with one cool stare, and said, in a yet lower voice, to her 
sister: 

I wanted to tell you, Emily, that you need not wait 
for me when you are ready to leave the church. I shall 
walk home. I have an errand to do before dinner-time.^^ 

“At Mrs. Agnew’s?'" her sister asked, tui^iing an 
angry face toward her. 

“No, not at Mrs. Agnew^s. But I shall not be here 
to ride home with you. That is what I came to say to 
you.''^ 

“Perhaps,"” said Mrs. Ballantyne, grown inditferent 
so long as it was not at Mrs. Agnew^ “Mr. Phillips 
will not mind being your escort. I am sure he would 
much prefer walking with you to riding with me."’"’ 

“TTes; but, y^know^s true, I would that!’^ Josiah an- 
swered, emphasizing his blunt honesty with a most lan- 
guishing glance at Thersie, a glance which, by reason of 
certain obliquity of vision and indecision of aim on his 
part appeared directly aimed at the young lady^s pert 
little nose. 

“Yes, but I am not so sure that you will,^^says Ther- 
sie, with placid malice, “ when I tell you that I am go- 
ing to visit a sick scholar of mine — a very poor child of 
the humbler classes, who has no one to make Christmas 
for her.^^ 

“ Small-pox asked Josiah, drawing back in alarm j 
“ or scarlet fever, or dijj — dip— dip — what you call it? 
Anything ketching?’"’ 

“Indeed, I never thought to inquire,^"’ was the men- 
dacious reply, “as I have been vaccinated, and had vari- 
oloid and all those other ‘"ketching^ things. I go there 
quite fearlessly. It is not very far. Shall we walk on, 
Mr. Phillips 

She smiled on him persuasively while drawing on her 
gloves. 

“ Yes, but Y know, if you wonT get mad, y^ know,^' 
gasped her victim, clutching despairingly at his neck- 
tie, “ I think — yes, but^s true, I think Pd rather stay. 


134 


mUE TO HEBSELE. 


Might be ketching, know, and I don^t want small- 
pox, y^ know, nor scarlet fever, y^ know, nor dip — • 
dip 

Tlieria,'*'' Mrs. Ballantyne inserted, rather snap- 
pishly. 

Thanks — nor Theria, nor any of the rest of the lot. 
Might spoil my looks, y^ know; yes, hub’s true.^'’ 

"^That would be a great pity,^’’ Thersie says, witli 
gravity; ‘'‘^so I will bid you good-morning. I hope you 
will have a very pleasant Christmas, Mr. Phillips. 

Yes, but y'’ know, pa and me, weTe coming to your 
house to eat dinner! See you soon again; yes, but y’ 
know^s trueb"’ 

Ah! I had not known of my sister’s arrangements; 
of course we will be glad to see you.” 

And Thersie compensated herself for this polite little 
fib by giving Emily one of her most reproachful glances 
as she turned from them both to go on her errand. 

Another lily, if you please, Mr. Phillips,” Mrs. 
Frederic says, with that surperfluity of amiable conde- 
scension she had to use so lavishly as an ofi-set to Ther- 
sie’s sparse civility. 

Yes; but you see,” said he, fumbling nervously in 
the basket on his arm for a lily, ^‘'got any chance at all, 
do y’ think? She’s just the purtiest, neatest thing out, 
y’ know; but yes, but y’ know, don’t I think — don’t you 
think, I mean, isn’t she sorter short on a feller! Cut’s 
him up some; yes, but y’ know?” 

‘^^It is just Thersie’s way,” Mrs.' Frederic answers, 
soothingly. know her better than you do. You 

must be patient and persevering. She’s worth any 
amount of both.” 

Yes; but y’ know, that’s true!” 

And Joe inwardly resolved to be as patient as Job and 
as persevering as Joshua. 

As Thersie walked briskly toward the gardener’s house 
she was conscious that she was approaching the season of 
universal rejoicing with feelings the reverse of cheerful cr 
serene. 

^^As one might feel,” she said to herself, '^who has 


TRUE TO HERSELE. 


135 


been walking for a long time care-free and merrily along 
smooth and level roads, across sunny pastures, by flowery 
pathways, which suddenly and unexpectedly diverge into 
dense dark woods; where the shadows lie thick and gloomy, 
where the mournful rustle of dead leaves is all the sound 
one hears, besides the beating of one’s own heart; where 
tlie giant branches clasp hands overhead to hide the face 
of Heaven from one; where there are no beaten paths to 
follow, no friendly guide to point the way. I have left 
my sunny paths behind me, and the shadows crowd thick 
and black upon me. Everard’s life hanging in the 
balance between life and death ! Mother Ballantyne a 
perfect image of grief-stricken helplessness! Emily, 
grown harsher and colder and more exacting than I ever 
could have believed possible! Swedish Cora, a confirmed 
paralytic, most unaccountably become one of my respon- 
sibilities! The minor annoyance of Mr. Josiah Phillips’ 
lover-like suit! Leslie Davenport grown ceremonious 
almost to coldness! Hothing bright or cheery, or just as 
it should be, but the faithful sunshine above and the 
sparkling icicles on the eaves.” 

Thersie had not left her childish days of credulity 
(which is the sad substitute for faith,” in grown-up 
vocabulary) so far behind as not to feel that Christmas 
is entitled to its own conditions of heart and mind and 
body. Better and brighter conditions than those in use 
on the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the 
year, hence the feeling of self-ieproach for her utter in- 
ability to ^^feel like Christmas.” 

At least,” she thought, as she paused with her hand 
on Cora’s door-latch, I need not shadow the day for 
the poor child in yonder. I wonder what her pathetic 
message — ^to please not let this day pass without coming 
to her’ — meant? I never knew her so insistant before.” 

The worn, white face of Swedish Cora lighted up joy- 
ously as the open door brought her teacher’s form into 
view. 

^ Ah! I said you w'ould come. I knew you would not 
refuse me!” And, scarcely pausing long enough for the 
ordinary greetings, she held up her hands (which since 


136 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


her accident had grown to be such very busy skillful 
little hands) to display in triumph an exquisitely woven 
garland of ivy leaves and holly berries. 

^‘Is it not beautiful/^ Miss Gordon she asked, 
eagerly. 

Beautiful, Coral So much more beautiful than the 
funny little stiff green things we ladies have been 
bungling over all day that I am glad I am the only one 
here to be mortified by your superior workmanshij). 
But wha^i is it for?^-^ 

And that is what the foolish child has troubled thee 
about, lady,^^ Coi'a^s mother answers for her, bustling in 
from the adjoining kitchen, where the Christmas cheer 
for the gardener's family was already sending forth 
savory suggestions to tantalize the nostrils. ^^It's to 
hang about the picture that the foolish children he- 
wreath and be-berry every Christmas, wnthout his ever 
being any the wiser for it. But I'll not be for stopping 
it, for a rare good Christmas the master makes for us 
every year. And it's not much of a W'onder now, is it, 
that they call him their good Saint Nicholas? But if he 
would only come just once to the year, and put his feet 
on his own hearthstone, that's been cold and lonely now 
these many weary years, a body would do the scouring 
and the dusting and the airing and the sunning with 
more heart. But all the while I am making his house 
look that sweet and lovely that a queen might be 
brought there without me shuddering at it, just for the 
moths and the rust to keep full possession." 

Thersie waited patiently for the gardener's wdfe to 
relieve herself of this chronic complaint against the 
master of the beautiful silent mansion that stood re- 
vealed now in all its architectural beauty since the frost 
had stripped the trees of all their foliage, that stood 
about it now like false friends holding aloof in the time 
of coldest hardship and trial. 

Thersie stood looking at the big house," as all the 
gardener's family called it, througln the window of 
Cora's bedroom. Its closed windoAvs and barred doors 
seemed like so many incorruptible guardians of Leslie 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


137 


Davenport^s secret. Why should he come there at this 
cheerful season of all others, when home meant most? — 
when, of all times it seemed fittest to turn to it as a 
sacred refuge from the buffetings of the outer world? 
What of home-life had those stately walls ever en- 
circled? 

You say he makes Christmas for the children every 
year?"^ she asks of the gardener's wife, in a far-away 
voioe from her stand at the window. Thersie never 
tired of hearing the master's praises sung. 

‘'‘^Ah! miss, that does he. And he never forgets 
them, either, nor any other soul that has service to 
render him, and does it faithfully." 

But all this while we're forgetting that Cora wants 
to tell me something about that lovely wreath of ivv and 
holly." 

Miss Gordon says this in obedience to an imploring 
look from Cora's patient eyes. 

An' me a working of my tongue like a loomshuttle, 
with the goose a cookin' of itself in yonder! I just 
step2)ed in when I heard your voice. Miss Gordon, to ask 
you not to think my poor girl over-bold in sending for 
you to-day. You've spoilt her altogether for anybody 
else's ways of doing things. It's ^Ah, Miss Gordon 
would never a done it that way,' or it's ^ Oh, Miss ' 

Mother, I smell the goose burning!" Cora cried out, 
anxiously. 

Whether she did or not, she immediately found her- 
self tete-a-tete with her teacher, and losing no time, 
said: 

‘‘I wanted for to get you, dear Miss Gordon, to do 
something for me that I've always done on Christmas 
for myself, and always loved to do. I've never seen the 
master. It may be that I shouldn't feel just all that I 
do for him if I had. But he never forgets me, and I 
don't want to neglect him. To-night father will go 
down to his place in the city, and he will come back 
with packages marked with each one of our names — 
father and mother's, mine and Nannie's — and there's 
sure to be something in each package that just suits the 


138 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


name on it. So Nannie and I, in our foolish way, got 
to calling him Kriss Krinkle. And then, as I couldn^t 
thank him, I got into a way of hanging wreaths about 
his picture, up there in the beautiful room where no 
one ever goes but mother and me to clean it, and dust 
off all the beautiful things. But Fll never go again! 
Nobody ever sees my wreath, and maybe the master him- 
self would be the first one to laugh at me for a silly, but 
all the same I love to do it. But this year,-’^ a sob, a 
heartrending cry, and the wreath of holly and ivy fell 
from Corals thin hands as, with a despairing gesture, she 
clasped them over her streaming eyes. 

‘^^My poor little Cora! I thought we had gotten past 
the anguish and the despair, and had reached the patient 
resignation to G-od^s will which makes it easy for us to 
look back without repining, Thersie said, as she stooped 
and took the fallen garland into her own gentle keeping. 

I think I can guess what you want me to do. You 
want me to decorate your Kriss Krinkle^’s picture for 
you. Nannie is too little, father belongs to the clumsy 
set, and mother daren^t leave the goose so longp^k 

Yes’m, that's just it." A smile of amusement 
spreads over Cora's wet face. Mother is always too 
anxious over her Christmas dinner to think anything 
else worth the doing, and if you only would " 

"'I will, my poor child! How could I refuse you? 
But where is Nannie? Some one must pilot me to 
where your good saint hangs." 

“'Nannie's gone with father to bid our kinsfolk come 
help eat the goose to-morrow. (The master sent the 
goose and the cranberries to go with it, too.) But 
mother'll surely not grudge the time to show you the 
way." 


But mother did surely "^grudge" making the long 
journey across the lawn, through the lower halls, and up 
to the door of the great room," as the silent drawing- 
room was always called. Unlocking the massive mahog- 
any door, she turned, with an anxious face and a hasty 
apology, to Thersie: 

"Tm sure, miss, you'll not think hard of me if I 


Tnnii To UERSELK 


139 


leave you now. A goose is a goose, and Christmas comes 
but once a year, and Cora that helpless there^s no leav- 
ing her by herself ten minutes. I’m sure it^s real gp.od 
you are to humor her this way. And now youhe in here 
maybe you^ll find it interesting to take a peep at things. 
Fm sure it^s a shame to think miners the only eyes that 
ever rests on it all. And thaFs thi - ’ • < 



there to one side of the big picture 


the little one to the other side is the master^s mother, 
and bless my soul ! it does seem as if I can smell that 
goose this blessed minute, and I^’m sure there's not one 
blessed drop of gravy left to baste it with. I'll come 
back for you." 

As in a trance, Thersie had stood just within the open 
doorway while the gardener's garrulous wife had de- 
livered herself of her valedictory. The long drawing- 
room stretched about her a magnificent parallelogram. 
The furniture was all draped in ghostly white linen; 
even the large central chandelier, whose crystal pendants 
sent a faint shimmer through their shroud of white tar- 
latan, was muffled to the throat. White marble tables, 
supporting groups of ghostly white statuary, did not 
tend to lessen the weird chill of the room. The long 
lace curtains were loosened from the porcelain lilies that 
were meant to hold them back, and fell in straight pall- 
like folds to the fioor. 

In the veiled mirrors that paneled the walls between 
the windows, Thersie caught glimpses of an unfamiliar 
form poised hesitatingly in a lofty dooiwvay — a wreath 
of ivy thrown about its shoulders and clasped in its 
clasped hands, a pair of gleaming, wondering eyes and 
a startled face. 

The fierce bang of a door in the lower hall, as the 
gardener's wife sped in mad haste back to her goose, 
roused her from her reverie. 

^‘Absurd!" she said, shaking herself into a more com- 
monplace frame of mind. believe I scarcely know 
my own face in its unfamiliar setting." 

Then she set about the task she had taken on herself. 

Was it fancy, or did the long, heavy damask curtains, 


140 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


that when dropped made an alcove of the big bay-win- 
dow at the rear end of the room, sway slightly to and 
fro? She imagined she could hear a faint musical tinkle, 
as though the burnished brass rings that upheld them 
had slipped along their horizontal bar. 

There is nothing for it to be,^^ she said aloud, argu- 
mentatively. ^^Cora and her mother at the cottage, 
Nannie and her father away; I here, where I suppose I 
have not the least bit of business to be, and the mice 
everywhere — sort of squatter sovereignty, ^o this is 
Leslie Davenport’s home!” 

Advancing as far as the mantel, she paused again in 
rapt contemplation of the most conspicuous object upon 
it. 

^^And this is Leslie Davenport’s wife. Beautiful — 
oh, so very beautiful! Lovely enough to beguile the 
heart and brain of an anchorite. Oh! thou true daugh- 
ter of Eve, what spirit of evil could have tempted you 
to forfeit such a paradise — to make wreck of your life 
and his? What temptation could this world have offered 
strong enough to blind you to the blessedness of your 
lot? This your home, and he your daily companion! 
Yours the inestimable privilege of seeing him, abiding 
near him at all times! Wonderful, monstrous, incom- 
prehensible folly! So blessed, and yet she knew it not!” 

Upon the pure, eager, upraised face of the living girl, 
whose fresh young lips were parted as if eager to con- 
tinue their indignant denunciation of the wife’s wrong- 
doing, whose luminous gray eyes flashed brilliantly at 
the memory of those wrongs, the beautiful, passionate 
eyes in the picture seemed to look down in merry mock- 
ery of such antiquated virtue. It was a very beautiful 
but perfectly soulless face that was framed there in the 
richly gilt frame over the mantel. 

The white-robed form, the graceful curves of the neck 
as its owner regarded spectators over her left shoulder, 
the arch defiance of her lovely eyes, the pouting red lips, 
that rivaled in redness the pomegranate flowers fastened 
over the tiny ear, the coronet of shining black hair 
coiled high over the smooth white forehead, formed a 
faultless combination for a pictured woman. 


^RXIE TO IIEBSELF. 


141 


The silvery chime of a tiny clock that stood upon a 
pedestal in one corner of the room attracted Theresa^s 
attention. 

Three o^clock! The day is waning. Ah, but never 
again may I harmlessly wander through this enchanted 
palace! It is an errand of kindness this time. I can 
fancy him calling me Donna Quixote for it.^^ 

She wandered toward the clock that had just uttered 
its silver-voiced warning. 

How perfectly exquisite!^" she exclaimed, in delighted 
contemplation of the artistic toy. What a keen sense 
of the beautiful abides in that stern, cold heart! He 
could not love anything that was not beautiful. He 
could not take pleasure in any homely thing. They say 
she brought him nothing but her beauty, but that 
sufficed. He can be* kind, and gentle, and considerate 
to all when it suits him to be; but love! To open the 
treasures of that stronghold, his heart — ah! one must 
possess the magic key of divine beauty. 

The clock that had stirred Thersie to this Kalf-plain- 
tive monologue was undeniably creditable to Mr. Daven- 
port^s sense of the beautiful. 

IJ pon a miniature mountain of onyx rocks, carelessly 
and naturally piled one above another, over which ferns 
and graceful vines in green enamel fell in profusion, 
stood a tiny castle of mother-of-pearl, every detail per- 
fect even to the square tower at one corner, in whose 
turret was the face of tire clock, not larger than a silver 
dollar. 

At last the ivy wreath Avas twined about the master's 
portrait. It Avas not a pleasing picture of him. 

The massive head, Avith its close-cropped Avavy hair; 
the large, dark, intelligent eyes, Avith the broAvs arcliing 
almost to a point; the clear-cut, unbearded lips and 
massive chin — all were iaithf ully reproduced, but it Avas 
the flinty hardness of a sculptured face. 

^‘^I miss something,^'' said Thersie, meditatively. 

That is a face of flint, but I have seen fire struck from 
that flint. I Avonder^^ — she had started toAvard the 
door — he Avill never knoAV. It can do no harm.-’^ 


142 


TRITE TO HER8ELE, 


She opened the basket upon her arm, and took from 
it a dainty little bouquet that had been destined for her 
own wear. 

They will die soon^ and no one will ever know of 
my folly/^ she murmured to herself, as she laid her 
votive offering before Leslie Davenporffs picture. 

Pansies, you know,^^ she said, looking into his imaged 
eyes, with gentle boldness, means hearPs-ease, and 
Donna Quixote lays them there, hoping that in all the 
years to come her friend^’s lieart may be filled with tran- 
quil ease. They say he is a man acquainted witli grief. 

She turned away with a bright scarlet spot on both her 
cheeks. Slowly and gradually she wandered toward the 
door; there was something to attract the eye and please 
the fancy at every step. 

A rustling sound causea her once more to turn her 
face toward the mantel. The heavy wreath had fallen 
from position, and was endangering the master^s pic- 
ture. 

Mounting upon a low stool, she tried to reach the gilt 
hook from which it was suspended. The stool tilted un- 
der her unevenly balanced weight; she grasped recklessly 
at the projecting frame of Mrs. DavenporPs large por- 
trait. Treachery lay even in that lifeless image. With 
a sudden yielding of the moth-eaten cords, the mas- 
sively-framed picture fell with a terrific crash to the 
fioor, striking the terrified girl one cruel blow on the 
temple with its sharpest edge, stretching her still and 
lifeless on the fioor. 

With one groan Leslie Davenport flung back the cur- 
tains of the bay-window and strode toward the motion- 
less form on the floor. 

My poor little Donna," he murmured, caressingly, 
as he lifted her tenderly and laid her on a sofa; “ curses 
on my careless handling of the picture. Was it for this 
you placed your tender little offering yonder? Is this 
my return for the hearPs ease yoiPve brought to me? 
Oh, child, child, did you not know a curse followed 
closely upon any contact with the beautiful serpent they 
call my wife?" 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


143 


With the tenderness of a woman he pu^ed the hair 
hack from Thersie^s white forehead and pressed his hand- 
kerchief upon the ugly cut over her temple, then lifted 
her^insensible form and carried her, as he mi^ht have 
carried a little child, across the lawn to the gardener’s 
cottage. 


144 


IBUE TO HERSELF. 


CIIAPTEK XV. 

A PEACE OEFERIN'G. 

T he bells from every Catholic steeple in the city were 
ringing-in the hour of the Nativity ,^and summoning 
the faithful to join in a midnight Mass, and still Leslie 
Davenport sat before the writing table in his np-town 
chambers. 

Spread open before him on the table was a woman^s 
handkerchief. It was made of the softest, finest cambric, 
edged with costly lace, and in the center was the mono- 
gram M. G. D. elaborately embroidered. It was yellow 
with age, and dust and cobwebs were thick about it. 
The four corners were creased and wrinkled as if from 
being knotted together tightly for a. long time, as they 
had been. The reflected light from a double-burner 
student^s lamp danced and quivered on a diamond but- 
terfly fluttering on a golden spray! A pair of dazzlingly 
brilliant ear-drops of solitaire diamonds, and superb em- 
erald ring in an antique setting of dull, dead gold! 

Slightly back from the cold glittering pile of gems, 
stood a tiny vase of silver and crystal, and it held a dain- 
tily sweet bouquet of pansies, violets and rose-geranium 
leaves! 

The jewels shot out a thousand dancing, quivering, 
sparkling, soulless rays under the light of the lamp ! The 
flowers, from their shadowy nook, shed a gentle, penetra- 
ting perfume over the yellow bit of cambric, over the 
flashing jewels, the books, the papers and the sombre- 
browed man who had put them there, in their pretty vase 
of crystal and silver, with all the gentle care of a woman. 

Types, said the master, running his fingers ungen tly 
over the cold, shining stones, then lifting the vase to in- 
hale the sweet refreshing fragrance of its contents. 


mUE TO UEBSELF, 


145 


Those entice the eye, enthral the judgment, and for 
the bread of life, for ^hich man hungers, mock their 
possessor with brilliant, flashing stony heartlessness I* 
These shed their perfume upon the just and upon the 
unjust and brings hearfs-ease to all/'’ 

Two letters lay written and enveloped, ready to dis- 
patch with his early morning mail. One was an answer 
to a letter he had gotten nearly a month before, and 
read: x 

I wish, that I could, without hypocrisy, desire you 
all the happiness that the saddest human heart feels 
entitled to at this season of peace on earth and good-will 
toward man. Happiness is a -thing that you have 
rendered impossible for both of us. I can sincerely ex- 
press the hope that with the passing of the days you 
have found time and inclination for serious and beneflcial 
reflection. Your letter does not convey to me any 
assurance that you have done so. Kestitution, you 
unblushingly acknowledge, is but an experiment for your 
own selfish benefit. You hope it may result in some 
good to yourself. Let me tell you, most emphatically 
and promptly, to put such hopes from you at once and 
for ever. Once I was powerless to prevent your putting 
a foul indignity upon my unsullied name! A second 
success on your part would be my own fault. To-mor- 
row your tardy act of restitution will be accomplished. 
I have chosen Christmas morning for obvious reasons. 
Still you think to deceive me. This is only a partial 
confession, fractional honesty, Nothing but the entire 
truth will serve my purpose. You may never hope to 
re-enter your ^ Paradise Lost,^ as you call it, in senti- 
mental selfish sorrow for what you have lost. Always 
what you have lost! Never what others have suffered. 
How gladly would I dispose of that monument to my 
own folly were it not for my dread that its very walls 
might give up to strangers some of the vile secrets they 
have so long and so faithfully guarded! I am often 
tempted to the extreme measure of firing the whole pile 
with my own hand, but again am deterred by remember- 


146 


TRUE TO nERSELF. 


ing that I should then destroy my only hope of righting 
some of the many wrongs of your committing. 

""With this you will receive the large oil-painting of 
yourself, which I doubt not possesses some value in your 
eyes. It fell this morning, owing, I presume, to my re- 
moval of the back and careless readjustment of the 
cords. Even your painted, lifeless image seems to pos- 
sess some fell power of evil. I do not care to rehang it 
in the drawing-room. It is yours. Way the possession 
of it bring to you more pleasure and comfort than the 
original ever brought to the writer.” 

Eolded in a small blank envelope; this was inclosed in 
a larger one, with a narrow slip of paper, on which was 
written only two lines: 

"" My dear Mother — Please deliver. I will be with 
you as usual on JSiew YeaPs Day. Sony to get such 
poor reports of your eyes. Take care of tlaem,” 

The other letter read: 

"" My Dear Miss Gordon — Your look of indignant 
reproach, fastened upon me as the first sign of your re- 
turn to consciousness this afternoon, must be answered. 
And I bespeak from you a patient reading of this, my 
defence: 

""Eromthe hour when I hastily concluded to leave 
my beautiful home, where I had made such elaborate 
preparations to welcome a guest that never came (Hap- 
piness), until this day I have never crossed its thresh- 
old. Yor should I ever have done so again voluntarily. 
A most disagreeable — ^yes, painful — duty, one which I 
could not possibly delegate to another, compelled my 
presence there this morning. I entered the premises by 
the small side-gate adjoining the main entrance. I did 
not care that my gardener^s family should have my visit 
for the text of the day’s gossip. My errand completed, 
I stood for a wdiile at the bay-window which overlooks 
the rear lawn, in a frame of mind the reverse from 


TRUE TO BEB8ELF, 


m 

placid or cheerful. To my gloomy fancy the bare, leaf- 
less, fruitless trees dotted about my lawn, shadowed 
forth my own barren, sunless, fruitless days. My mind 
had traveled a long way into the past, child, to a period 
when you were a small, care-free lassie at school, and I 
was a younger, happier and more hopeful man than I 
am to-day, when I was filled with surprise to see you 
advancing across the lawn toward the house. I have 
long known, through their father, of the pretty tribute 
my little Swedes pay me every Christmas, and I also 
knew, through the same garrulous source, that you had 
been his child’s good angel ever since her sad accident. 
And so, when I saw you coming wdth the wreath of ivy 
and holly in your hands, it required no great effort of 
imagination to conclude that Donna Quixote was abroad 
on one of her tender, kindly missions of grace. 

Personally, Miss Gordon, I had no motive for con- 
cealing my presence from you; nor should I have done 
so but for the conviction that it would have destroyed 
all the pleasure you were taking in obliging Cora, the 
cripple. As things turned out, I thank Heaven I was 
near you in that shocking moment. 

^^And now, then, I have a request to prefer. With 
this there -will come to you the little clock you seemed 
to admire so much. The Arabs have a pretty custom of 
pressing upon their friends acceptance of whatever may 
have elicited admiration from them. Outside barbarians 
could teach us much if we were willing to learn of them. 
I, too, think the clock very pretty. It is a trifle which 
I purchased in Genoa. It has a legend. This is it. 
You will find it illegibly printed on the back of the 
clock: 

Once upon a time there was a very rich lord, who 
had met with so much deception and untruth and dis- 
honesty in this world, that he grew sick and weary of it 
and everybody in it, and determined to withdraw from 
it entirely (played ' Timon of Athens,’ in short). So, 
looking him out a remote rocky fastness on his own 
estate, he caused to be built there a beautiful white 
palace, all of crystal and ivory and alabaster, that shone 


148 


mXIB TO HERSELF, 


from afar with exceeding brightness. In one of the 
watch-towers thereof he placed an illuminated dial to 
mark the passing of the days, and over the face of tlie 
dial there swung a golden cage, and in the golden cage, 
on a bar of crystal, there perched a snow-white dove — > 
all just as you see it in your little clock; and he called 
his dazzling hermitage the ^ Palace of Truth, ^ and the 
rocks upon which it was planted, all of which had to be 
surmounted and left behind before one reached his shin- 
ing portals, were the ^ rocks of deceit and cupidity and 
faithlessness,^ and all the other countless ills over which 
poor humanity is prone to stumble and fall. Soy when- 
ever a wayfarer, surmounting all these black and rugged 
obstacles, reached his door and claimed admittance into 
the Palace of Truth, he was put to the crucial test. He 
was taken into the watch-tower and bidden to lay his 
hand upon the illuminated face of the dial. If found 
worthy, the door of the golden cage would swing softly » 
open of its own accord, the snow-white dove would 
desert its crystal bar and perch upon the shoulder of the 
candidate for admittance. After which, all the blessed 
rights and privileges of the Palace of Truth were his to 
enjoy for ever and for ever. 

“ The legend, as is the fashion of legends, is not com- 
plete. We are left to imagine the fate of those whom 
the white dove — the spirit of truth, I presume — does 
not indorse. But the legend is pretty, and the clock is 
pretty, and as I am sending Mrs. Frederic my season 
compliments, I could think of nothing I should rather 
send you than this toy. It is a peace-offering, and as 
such you cannot, will not, refuse, I hope. L. 

The Christmas chimes were still smiting the frosty 
night-air when a knock aroused Mr. Davenport from 
his reverie. 

^^Come in,^^ he called, without moving. 

A grave, elderly man entered the room, and after a 
respectful salutation to the merchant, he stood quietly 
waiting for Mr. Davenport to complete the task of put- 
ting the glittering jewels on the table into one long box. 


mXTE TO^ HERSELF, 140 

Before putting the lid of the box on, he beckoned the 
man to the table. 

You recognize them?^^ he asked, in a low, stern voice. ‘ 
do, sir.^^ 

^‘1 have found ’them after a long and determined 
search. You will restore them ! No questions asked or 
answered! You have been very true tome, Hamilton, 
and I am deeply grateful to you.” 

^^Ay, ay, sir! A man may be a detective and yet 
carry a heart about with him. But when the talk comes 
to gratitude, it^s me that’s got the best cause for feelin’ 
it. It ain’t no play work feedin’ and clothin’ the wife 
and five kids. And many’s the time we’d a-f elt the pinch 
of want but for you, sir.” 

^^You need no renewed warnings, Hamilton. The 
old conditions hold on both sides. Take the box. Good- 
night, and a very happy Christmas to you and yours.” 

‘^Ay, ay, sir! We understand each other. It’s good- 
morning, rather.” 

As the door closed upon his visitor, Mr. Davenport 
sighed, as one relieved of a mighty load. 

They are gone! But my heart’s ease is left. Shall 
I grow fanciful, and wear a blissful omen out of two dis- 
connected facts. It pleases me at this season of indul- 
gence to believe that the hardness and the coldness shall 
one day pass away, to make room for a gentle worth of 
sweetness and purity. The barrenest spot may grow its 
aftermath.” 


150 


TRm TO HERSMff. 


CIIAPTEB XYI. 

A YEEY SUDDEK RESOLUTIOi^. 

T he CHEISTMAS season under discussion, and 
the "Winter to which it belonged, ran their ap- 
pointed course, terminating in a sudden but very decided 
compromise with spring, that set all the buds a-bursting 
and all the birds a-singing in that recklessly happy 
fashion that is common to the buds and birds of a 
climate where violent extremes often meet, before 
Everard Ballantyne once more took up the burden of 
his life. 

I have but one complaint to make, Ered,^^ he said 
to his brother, who had just assisted him in his fatiguing 
first journey from the bed to an easy-chair by the open- 
window, where the soft spring air came floating in laden 
with delicate fragrance. 

That is moderate enough, I am sure, for such a pro- 
ficient in the fine art of grumbling, his brother an- 
swered, lightl}^, ^^and that is 

^^That so much pains have been taken to preserve 
such a very worthless life. I am such an unmitigated 
failure. Ered, I absolutely seem to have no raison cT 
Hre. How that the doctors and my friends between 
them have so insisted upon this new lease of life, it 
would really seem incumbent upon me as a gentleman to 
make respectable acknowledgment of their kindness by 
becoming a decent member of society. But the play is 
scarcely worth the candle. 

That sounds weak, Everard, Frederic said. Very 
weak!^^ 

^^Oh! he is weak! Terribly weakP^ Mother Ballan- 
tyne inserts with affectionate literalness. How could 
he be anything else after such an attack?^-' 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


151 


So weak that it could only he excused in a con- 
valescing invalid. A sound mind in a sound body, you 
know. You^ll reason more rationally when your blood 
begins to circulate a little quicker. Which brings me to 
my errand. Emily sent me round by this way this 
morning to tell you that she was coming in the landau 
this afternoon to take you for a long drive. The 
doctors say you may venture, provided you are housed 
again before nightfall. She will be here by sharp four, 
and declares she will take no denial.” 

Thanks!” said the invalid, with cold indifference. 

‘^You will not refuse, I hope. Eve?” Frederic said 
this, looking anxiously into the wan face of his younger 
brother. The division between the households had 
been a source of very keen sorrow to the elder man. 

Emily has quite set her heart upon taking you out,” 
he added, ^‘^and I am quite sure it will do you good.” 

I shanT refuse, Fred. I am no fonder of unburied 
hatchets than the rest of you are. I will be ready.” 

With this assurance, Frederic went away; and Mrs. 
Ballantyne, arming herself with a big palmetto fan, 
seated herself close by the invalid^s chair to make sure 
that no presumptuous fly or daring mosquito should en- 
danger the tranquil peace of her idol of clay. 

‘^1 am so glad you consented to go, dear,” she said; 

I think it will be for the best. Emily has been just 
as kind and attentive during your illness as could be. 
In fact, everybody has been. I donT know what I 
should have done without so many good friends. Fm 
not the nurse I used to be.” 

''^Mother,” Everard asks, without lifting his lids, 
^Mias Thersie been here often? Did she seem to care?” 

If his eyes had been opened he would have been 
more fully" answered by the perplexed trouble of his 
mother’s face than by the cautiously selected words of 
her reply. 

course she cared, son! Who could doubt the 
quickness of that dear girl’s sympathies? She came 

pretty often at first — to ask — but — 1 Son, I do 

not believe Thersie is at all well herself. She seems 


153 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


abstracted and self-absorbed lately. Y on know that '’s not 
like her.^^ 

Never mind. Don^t try to patch matters up just to 
spare my feelings. She thought my illness just the re- 
sult of a drunken bout, no doubt. 

The mother’s patient, withered hand was laid depre- 
catingly upon the impetuous lips that made that state- 
ment in tones of hot irritation. 

Hush! no; how could you think so? You have been 
terribly ill of t)^hus fever. The result of close appli- 
cation to office duties and lack of exercise. All the 
doctors said so. Oh! son, thank Heaven wdth me for 
your recovery.” 

^^All the doctors told polite lies, then. Thersie 
thinks for herself,” Everard answers, obstinately bent 
upon not feeling thankful for his restoration. 

I don’t exactly know what it all means, son, we’ve all 
seemed to get things into such a tangle lately; but I am 
afraid Thersie has some trouble of her own on hand. 
She neither looks nor acts at all like herself. I declare she 
and Fanny seems quite to have changed places lately. 
Thersie used to be the one to hold up everybody’s hands, 
as it were. But now, although she is just as gentle and 
thoughtful as ever, there don’t seem to be as much 
^ snap ’ — I can’t think of any better word — in her as 
there used to be. It’s Fanny that’s tried to lighten my 
heart and cheer me through all these dark, terrible days. 
Such womanly ways and tender forethought as that poor 
untaught child has developed. Oh! son, I wish” — here 
Mother Ballantyne grew suddenly but hopelessly incon- 
sequent — “^^if you would only try to ” 

“ ^ Only would try to ’ what. Mother? You are so in- 
ter jectional this morning.” 

Try to see in Fanny Marsden more than the ^ hand- 
some animal ’ you discovered on a first glance.” 

was an insolent brute,” Everard declared, with 
considerable energy. I have long since discovered and 
acknowledged that Miss IMarsden had more worth, out- 
spoken honesty and true grit, than could be extracted 
from a dozen such wretches as the one who presumed to 
pass sentence on her. I was a brute!” 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 




Indeed she has/^ Mrs. Ballantyne answers^ eagerly, 
forgetful, in her warm advocacy of Fanny, that slie is 
indorsing Everard's abuse of himself, ^^and I lovelier 
like a mother."’^ 

Everard smiled languidly into the careworn face so 
close to his own. 

^^You are not hankering after another daughter-in- 
law, are you, mother? I should have thought Fredas 
benefaction in that shape would have quenched your 
ambition. 

There are very few Emi^y Ballantynes in this world, 
son.” 

So she thinks.” 

^^Yes; but 

There!” Everard says, with a ring of the old impe- 
riousness in his voice; pray let us seek a safer topic. It 
is not just to my fancy to be always backbiting my 
brother’s wife, more especially as in a few moments I 
shall be playing the agreeable to her face.” 

^^May I come in?” asked a fresh, young voice at 
the partially open door, and scarcely waiting for the 
cordial ^‘Yes” sent back by Mrs. Ballantyne, Fanny 
Marsden entered the room, carrying in both hands a 
silver filigree basket, wherein lay clustered, half-hidden 
by geranium leaves and heliotrope, some luscious-looking 
strawberries. 

^^I thought,” she said, blushing warmly as she stood 
before Everard’s chair, that you would enjoy them — 
I’ve taken such pleasure in ‘hunting for them for you. 
And then, oh ! I wanted to come in and tell you how glad 
I was to know that you were actually getting well. So 
glad for your mother’s sake and — your own. We have 
all — your mother and your friends, I mean — been per- 
fectly wretched about you. There,” she went on, bend- 
ing over the berries to hide her deepening blushes, ^‘^does 
not that tempt you?” and she holds one of the finest in 
tantalizing proximity to his lips. 

Everard gallantly touched his lips to the shapely hand 
so close to them. 

The soft rustle of silk caused them all to glance toward 


154 true to herself. 

the door on whose threshold stood Mrs. Frederic Ballan- 
tyne. 

She advanced graciously into their midst, closely fol- 
lowed by Thersie, who did indeed look sober enough to 
warrant Mother Ballantyne^s conjecture that she had 
some trouble of her own on hand. , 

Your brother tells me, Everard, that I am bidden 
by the doctors to have you safely housed again before 
dark,"*’ Emily says, after a few moments of most animated 
conversation. So, if mother will accept Thersie^s com- 
pany as a substitute for yours for a little while, we had 
best be off at once."’^ 

Emily wanted him all to herself this evening, 
Thersie explained as they settled themselves after dis- 
patching the invalid with a multiplicity of wraps and 
injunctions. I think she has something very particu- 
lar to say to him. ’"’ 

Thersie’s thoughts on this subject were the natural 
result of her sister’s statements to that effect, and as she 
was always looking forwaaM hopefully to the time when 
Emily should make the amends for her harshness to 
Everard, she gladly undertook oiL this occasion to stay 
at home with Mother Ballantyne, so that there should be 
no witness to her sister’s self-abasement. 

Fanny had fled after hastily depositing her fruits and 
flowers on the center-table; for, while she had come to 
dearly love Theresa Gordon, she stood in abject and un- 
reasoning terror of the frigid Mrs. Frederic Ballantyne. 

Thersie, dear,” Everard’s mother said, looking wist- 
fully in the face of the girl she would so have loved to 
call daughter, am afraid you are not as happy as you 
might be.” 

Who is. Mamma Ballantyne?” she asks, with a light 
laugh. 

^^Not many, to be sure, child — not many. But, 
Thersie, are you quite sure it’s nothing I could help you 
with?” 

Quite sure.” 

^^Nor anybody else?” 

Yor anybody else.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


155 


"Why, Thersie, that^s dreadful 'F 
^^What^s dreadful. Mamma Ballantyne 
^^That you, so young, and at one time so light- 
hearted, should be locking some terrible secret away 
from us all.” 

Dear old friend,” Thersie answers, with an irrita- 
tion altogether new with her, ‘^don^t you think you 
have quite enough to worry about without adding me to 
the list?” 

^^But, dear, I would so like to help you. I know Fm 

_ not quite the adviser I used to be, but ” 

^^But” — Thersie takes the word out of her mouth — 
believe me, please, that no one can help me. Now, 
then, I am disposed of; let us talk about yourself, or 
Everard, or Fanny, or all three.” 

For how could she talk, even to one so near and tried 
as this old friend, of the daily torture her life was being 
made to her by reason of Josiah Phillips’ determined 
and obnoxious pursuit of her, and her sister’s perfectly 
incomprehensible advocacy of his suit? How could she 
tell of the perpetually recurring sharp and painful pass- 
ages between herself and her sister on account of that 
same ungainly and, to her, utterly repulsive member cf 
society? 

So, with her accustomed adroitness, Thersie turned 
the current of conversation toward Mother Ballantyne’s 
own grievances. And while the mother dwelt with 
plaintive tenderness on Everard’s symptoms, his weak- 
ness, his desires and his deserts, with that^ persistent 
egotism excusable only in old age and maternity, the ob- 
ject of her solicitude w^as bowling over the incomparable 
drives of the Crescent City, enjoying the freshness of the 
evening air with languid complaisance Avhile his sister- 
in-law cautiously unmasked her batteries. 

I am so glad, Everard,” she said, tucking the car- 
riage-blanket about him with sisterly solicitude, "'to see 
that you have brought things to such a satisfactory un- 
derstanding with Miss Marsden. She^ is a charming 
creature. So fresh and natural. Beautiful in her way, 
too. And, I am told, altogether comfortable in circum- 
stances,” 


156 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


^^Slie is all that you claim for lier/^ said Everard, 
placidly, ^^but I fail to recall any misunderstanding 
that has ever existed between us// 

You misunderstand me altogether/^ Emily answers, 
flushing. I mean, I am so glad she is to be your wife. 
A sweeter, brighter, more yielding companion no man 
could wish for than she will make. I declare, that little 
domestic picture of Eanny dropping the strawberry into 
your mouth, smiling devotion with her eyes and lips, 
was just too pretty to have been intruded upon by such 
prosaic creatures as Thersie and me.’’^ 

A flush of sullen anger mounted to Everard Ballan- 
tyne^s brow. Must he and this woman be forever an- 
tagonizing each other? he wondered bitterly within 
himself. 

pray you, sister-in-law,” he said, leave Miss 
Marsden^s name out.. She has suffered enough from her 
ignorant, child-like sympathy for me already. She is 
absolutely ingemi.^’ 

But you are not,” Mrs. Ballantyne said, with a 
touch of the old-time censorship, "‘'and nothing but an 
established understanding between you could sanction 
the freedom of your intercourse.” 

"" I really wish, Emily, you would explain it to her. 
I swear I can^’t see what I can do in the premises.” 

""You can marry her.” 

"" But I don^t want to many her.” 

"" She is simply devoted to you.”- 

"" Have you the y^ung lady^s own sanction for such an 
otherwise totally unwarrantable assertion?” 

""Ho, but I have Thersie^s.” 

""Thersie is not wont to be so garrulous of other peo- 
ple's confidences,” said Everard, angrily, "" and I think 
betAveen us all we are heaping unprovoked insults upon 
that innocent girl.” 

"" Everard,” said Mrs. Ballantyne, turning upon him 
with a fine show of candor, "" I wish you Avould get mar- 
ried. I will not pretend to be altogether disinterested 
in this matter. I Avant you to marry for your OAvn sake, 
and for Thersie^s,” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


157 


^^Thersie^s?” he repeated, his heart beating violently 
the while. 

Yes, Thersie^s. You are an impediment in the way. 
of her happy settlement in life. See, I throw myself on 
your generosity. You know that I feel all a mother^s 
solicitude for Thersie^s settlement in life. To my certain 
knowledge, there is a suitor for her hand, eligible in every 
respect, who would make her a happy wife and be a devoted 
husband to her, but who is kept at a distance by the absurd 
rumors that you and Thersie have been affianced from 
childhood. 

Why don’t this ^ eligible suitor ’ satisfy his misgivipgs 
by plain, straightforward questions?” he asked, bitterly. 

He would soon discover that I am only an object of 
contemptuous pity to your sister.” 

He is too delicately generous, or too proud for that,” 
said Emily. 

It must be Davenport,” thought Everard, who be- 
longed to that half of society who regarded Leslie Dav- 
enport as a hona fide widower. It would be just like 
him to stand back and give me a fair chance. He little 
knows that I’ve never had a ghost of one at any time. 
Davenport’s worth any woman’s winnings. Oh, Thersie, 
if I had only been half as worthy!” 

Aloud he said: 

You know, Emily, that I have loved your sister ever 
since I came home from college.” 

‘^1 know you’ve had a boyish fancy for her. Believe 
me, she would make no such gentle, helpmate as Fanny 
Marsden.” 

^‘^Do you think Thersie loves this — your eligible — 
suitor?” 

^‘1 think so far, with her Quixotic notions of self- 
abnegation, that she has been far more absorbed in your 
troubles and in your mother’s comfort than is either 
desirable or quite proper. You have left her no time to 
think of herself. She has been absolutely monopolized. 
Her brother and I both resent it, but she has fancied 
notions of duty that are just as incomprehensible as they 
are absurd and difficult to combat.” 


158 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


And you tliiiik Tliersie^s kindness to us has assumed 
the proportion of a duty in her unselfish soul?^' 

Very largely/^ said Mrs. Ballantyne, coldly; for the 
purpose of this drive was to place Everard Ballantyne 
for ever out of the way, as an impediment in the pursuit 
of the one all-absorbing object of her life — that object, 
Thersie^s marriage with Josiah Phillips — and she could 
not afford to spare him, nor even to deal mercifully by 
him. 

Everard relapsed into moody silence in his corner of 
the carriage. He did not doubt but that his sister-in- 
law was correct in her statements. He was crushed with 
a sense of his own unworthiness. What was there about 
him for an earnest, self-reliant girl like The^’sie Gordon 
to respect ? She was very good to him — always had been, 
from pity or some other gentle, womanly motive. He 
was so insignificant in his own eyes that he wondered 
Mrs. Frederic should find him at all dangerous. She was 
right in trying to secure such a party as Davenport for 
her sister. Davenport was just the punctilious sort of a 
man to stand aloof, if the coast was not quite clear. 
Here, then, was his chance to square accounts with 
Thersie. If ever he had been an impediment in the way 
of her happiness, he would no longer remain so. 

He sighed audibly, and lifted his hat to brush the 
damp hair back from his brow. Moreover, marriage 
with Fanny Marsden would make his mother happy, he 
thought. 

I am afraid you are very weak yet,^"* Emily said, 
considerately; shall we turn toward Mrs. Agnew^s?^^ 

If you please. I am tolerably shaky yet.-’^ Then 
they both relapsed into silence once more — a silence 
laden with significance to more than one or two, or 
even three, of the human puppets on this mimic stage. 

That night Everard Ballantyne sat again in the big 
easy-chair, his large eyes fixed meditatingly on Fanny 
Marsden, as she sat under the drop-light, reading aloud 
to him and to his mother. 

A gentle, regular snoring attended the mothers 
enjoyment of the exercise. 


TRUE TO lIERSEm 


159 

Fanny/^ he said, very gently, close the book and 
come here, please. See, you've read poor old mother 
into a sound slumber." 

Fanny closed the book, and coming to him, stood 
near him looking down into his worn face with eyes 
that told him Emily had not erred. He held out his 
hand — she took it and held it between her own — he 
could feel the tremor that made them unsteady. 

Fanny," he asked, ‘^^do you love me?" 

With down-dropped lids and quivering lips, she an- 
swered “ Yes." 

And will you marry me? lam not worthy of you," 
he said, honestly. 

""Oh, Everard, make me worthy of you!’’ gentle, 
foolish, loving Fannie Marsden cried, in passionate 
self-abasement, as he gathered her into his arms. 

When Mrs. Ballantyne, with a snort of strangulation 
and a fine assumption of wide-awakeness, presently sat 
bolt upright in her chair, and smiled appreciatively 
toward the spot where Fanny had been reading when 
oblivion seized upon her, dear old lady, it was to find 
the reader's chair vacant, herself fled, and Everard, his 
eyes fixed on the outer darkness, meditatively pulling 
the long drooping ends of his silky mustache. 

After he had brought things to such a sudden climax, 
Fanny had given him one ecstatic impulsive little hug 
and rushed from the room. He did not care to arouse 
his mother to too early a participation in this wonderful 
piece of news, so had leaned back in his chair with that 
restful sensation that often succeeds upon any action 
toward the irrevocable, and had fallen into a reverie 
into which self-gratulation gradually crept and pre- 
dominated. 

The longer he reflected upon what he had done, the 
better satisfied he was with himself for having done it. 
What did it matter if this was not just the sort of woo- 
ing that his romantic fancy had always prefigured, nor 
Fanny his first best love! When did things ever turn 
out as we prefigured them, and who ever did marry 
his first or best love ? Better be looked up to with uu- 


IGO 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


questioning adoration by a simple-hearted girl like Fanny 
Marsden than have a Portia-like wife^ such as Thersie, 
sitting in perpetual, even if unuttered, judgment upon 
his weaknesses. 

He had not deceived Fanny. He had asked her if 
she loved him. He had told her that he was not worthy 
of her. Was it his fault if she chose to manufacture a 
pedestal out of her own girlish fancyings and enthrone 
him thereon? He was quite sure he could make her 
happy, and, after all, that was the main consideration, 
or should be, in any marriage contract. 

Then, as for Thersie! There was no denying it to 
himself that she had been for a good long while his 
bright, peculiar star. But if the star shone upon him 
from such serene heights that he could only worship 
humbly from afar, why, then, so let it be. Thersie 
would always occupy a unique position in his regards; as 
something of supreme excellence, Too fair and good 
for common mortals^ daily food.'’^ 

It thrilled him with happiness to know that he had it 
in his power to bring happiness nearer to her by a sacri- 
fice. If Davenport loved her, and was to6 haughty to 
enter the lists with other competitors, he should no 
longer find one in him. It was comparative happiness 
to contribute thus to Thersie^s welfare. 

Then, again, his mother^s cup would receive its crown- 
ing joy in this marriage. She wanted it. And it would 
place him in a position to surround her old age with 
numberless comforts that otherwise it coiild never know. 
Not yet (for the intervention of that sudden, terrible 
illness had prevented a confession) had he explained to 
her how nearly her all had been swept away on that last 
mad night. Marriage with Fanny, to be consummated 
promptly, would smooth over a good many little rough 
nesses for him. 

Meditating thus, he had argued himself quite into the 
position of a benefactor to the family by the time his 
mother, rubbing her eyes guiltily, sat- bolt upright, and 
asked: ^AVhere is Fanny, son?^^ 

^^Gone to her own room. Mother, I have done it.^^ 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


161 


^^Done what, son?” 

^^Asked Fanny to marry me.” 

^^Oh! thank Heaven, my hoy, for such a blessed piece' 
of information!” the mother ejaculated, devoutly, with 
never a doubt as to the possibi^ty of his wooing having 
failed. 


1G2 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


CHAPTEK XVII. 

AT bay! 

T he day is done, and slowly from the scene the 
stooping sun np-gatliers his spent shafts, and 
puts them back into his golden quiver. Beautiful isn^t 
it sister?"^ Thersie asked, from her stand by the sunset- 
gilded window, which she slowly tapped to the rhythm 
of the words. • 

‘^^Yes,'’^ Emily answered, with absent indifference; 
then she relapsed into that haughty silence which was 
becoming habitual with her. 

^‘^Time was,""^ said Thersie, a trifle tartly, ‘^when the 
quotation of one line from Longfellow would have been 
sufficient to stir you into a perfect frenzy of poetical 
fervor. Coming away from the window and seating 
herself on one end of the lounge her sister was lying on, 
she took Mrs. Ballantyne^s hand in hers. ‘‘1 know 
you are not in robust health, Emily, but doffit you think 
this complete giving up of yourself to gloom and de- 
spondency is calculated to retard your recovery, sister?’^ 
^‘1 shall never be in robust health, again, Theresa. I 
doubt, in fact, if I shall live to see Emile^s career as a 
man fairly inaugurated; But his future is assured, I 
think and hope. You are my greatest source of anxiety, 
Theresa.'’^ 

Thersie says, with wide-open eyes. 

Yes, )^ou. You have it in your power to relieve me 
of a fearful load of anxiety. You can do it, and you 
must do it, else the consequences be upon your own 
head ! ^ 

,Mrs. Ballantyne, in her fevered excitement, had risen 
partially, and leaned on one elbow, as she fixed her glit- 
tering eyes on her young sister. 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


163 


Theresa/^ she added, in a voice husky with emotion, 
^^you must marry Josiah Phillips! You mud I Do 
you understand me?^’’ 

Then that latent power of self-assertion that Thersie 
so seldom cared to bring into active service flashed into 
her eyes, voice and erect figure. 

She stood up in her righteous wrath, and said, in a 
voice she strove vainly to keep quite calm: 

‘‘ Emily, what your remarkable infatuation in favor 
of that young man may mean I cannot even conjecture. 
You are refined; he is coarseness personified. You 
have too much brain not to be shocked by his total lack 
of it. His money certainly can be no inducement, for I 
have sufficient to be comfortable on all my life. I am 
fully aware q| the fact that you urged on the marriage 
between Everard and Fanny, thinking that, wit^h 
Everard out of the way, you would find me more man- 
ageable. Everard Ballantyne never stood in the way of 
your remarkable ’ matrimonial scheme for me for one 
half-second. But now let me tell you, once and for all, 
that if I were positively assured that my refusal to 
marry Josiah Phillips would reduce me to the necessity 
of begging my bread from door to door, I would regard 
that necessity as the lesser of two evils; and now that 
you have my final, my irrevocable answer, I implore 
you to drop this detestable subject, and let us live to- 
gether in the old sisterly, peaceful fashion. Oh, 
Emily 

She put out her hand entreatingly; but Emily flung 
it wrathfully from her, and sat up on the lounge, white, 
weak and trembling. 

Theresa, she said, so slowly that she seemed to be 
wrenching the words from under lock and key, ^‘^if I 
were to tell you that this thing must be done to save 
my — to save our — name from disgrace, what then? 
Would you niarry him?^^ 

‘^^Yo! Ten thousand times, no! Earth could hold 
no greater disgrace for us, or for our name, than such a 
coupling of it with the name of Phillips. You are 
pleased to talk in riddles sister, but of this one thing I 


164 


TBUE TO HERSELF. 


am sure: Whatever trouble you may have gotten into 
with your lawyer — and women do so many stupid things 
when they try to attend to business— money will 
straighten it out. I have seen enough of both father 
and son to know that money is a cure-all. Take all 
tliat I have, sister, if it will relieve you of your em- 
barrassments, but do not ask me to sell myself."’^ 

Your money is not enough!’^ 

Does Fred know of your trouble, Emily?” 

Frederic! dare but hint to him that I have any 
trouble, and I will never forgive you. Never, never, 
never!” 

Thersie looked into her sisteFs excited, haggard face 
with haughty surprise, as she asked: 

"^Have you ever known me for an intermeddler?” 

Mrs. Ballantyne sank back among her dhshions with a 
sigh of intense weariness, before she answered: 

No, no, child! I certainly never have. I donT know 
Avhy I should permit myself to become so excited in your 
behalf. But, Thersie, think of it. If I should die, 
where would you find a home? The world is a cruel, 
censorious world. You could not live here, alone with 
your brother-in-law. You could not take shelter in Ev- 
erard Ballantyne’s home, for it would take very little to 
stir that childish wife of his into a tempest of jealousy. 
She more than suspects that the reason Everard married 
her was because he could not get you. And when I am 
gone, you will have lost your only relative. Child, you 
have been more of a daughter to me than a sister, why 
will you be so obdurate in opposing me in my dearest 
wish!” 

Is it your dearest wish, Emily, that I should marry 
Mr. Josiah Phillips?” Thersie asked, in a voice of in- 
credulous scorn. 

It is,” Emily answers, with tragic impressiveness. 

A man without one single attribute to recommend 
him to a girl-fancy !” 

“ GirPs fancies are more often the rocks a woman^s 
happiness is wrecked upon than guides to a haven of rest 
and security, Thersie.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


165 


Perhaps/^ Thersie answers, in a low, soft voice, Avitli 
a far-away look in her clear, gray eyes — ^^and yet, sister, 
sometimes a girl may have an insight into the future, a 
clear foreknowledge of the absolute requisites to her own 
happiness, that she had best give heed to. Entertaining 
them royally, as angels of warning, that she may not 
slight with impunity.'’^ 

Emily^s eyes had rested on her with searching scrutiny 
as she uttered this short rhapsody, and the words came 
to the elder woman fraught with revelation. 

Thersie!’^ she stood up, and grasping her sister^s 
hands held them firmly, as she looked down upon her 
with cruel fixedness. have grasped your secret! I 
know now why it is you refuse so absolutely and haughtily 
to think of Joshua Phillips as a suitor!’^ 

Thersie gave one startled look up into the stern, pale 
face of her sister, and then turned her pretty head until 
only the profile of one flushed cheek was left for obser- 
vation. 

You love Leslie Davenport!” Emily added, remorse- 
lessly. 

Thersie made a violent but ineffectual effort to free 
her hands. A long, tremulous sigh escaped her lips; 
then she stood still and motionless as marble. 

You love Leslie Davenport,” Emily repeated, with 
scathing deliberation, and you dare not deny it!” 

Is it a sin to love him ? Then my soul is deeply dyed. ” 

^^Bah! poor, weak, sinful simpleton! Go away from 
me! You do not know what wretchedness you are work- 
ing for yourself and me by this romantic folly. Now, 
listen to me! Either you come to me at this hour to- 
morrow, ready to accede to my plans for your future, 
or — else — you make for yourself another home.” 

She flung from her, in a perfect passion of impatience, 
the little hands she had been holding so tightly that the 
rings had pressed painfully into the tender flesh, and 
then tottered to her lounge once more. 

Thersie stood quite still, white and silent, for a full 
moment where her sister had left her, then she asked, in 
a low, quiet voice: 


1G6 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


Emily, do you mean it? Do you mean every word 
of it?’"’ 

As Heaven is my witness, I do!” was the emphatic 
reply. 

Without another word Thersie turned from her and 
went out; out of the room, out of the house; out of her 
sisteEs life! Out of the room, to hastily seize her hat 
and gloves, and to tie a thick veil over her burning 
cheeks and blazing eyes; out of the house, to spring 
-into the first street car that passed, indifferent as to 
what direction it might be taking; unconscious that it 
was to lead her forward blindly and irresistibly to that 
end which destiny shapes for us all, rough hew them as 
w^e may. 

Almost crouching into one corner of the car, utterly 
oblivious to her surroundings, conscious only of a 
crushed and broken spirit, of a burning sense of shame, 
at having been forced to give up the secret^he had 
thought to share only with the Searcher of all hearts; 
of a wild desire to run away from all the old familiar 
faces and places, to some place where no one could taunt 
her with the wild, sweet passion of love she had given 
unasked ; she sits in mute misery until these words were 
borne in upon her dulled senses in one of those sudden 
stoppages of the car that leaves no time for the instan- 
taneous modulation of high pitched voices: 

The truth is, they need some one there. Some one 
of education and refinement, and heart enough to bear 
with all the shadows that hover over that house. But 
where can such a one be found?” 

It was a voice, high and fine and penetrating, that 
uttered these words. 

Thersie peered at the speaker through the opaque 
folds of her barege veil. The face and voice went well 
together — both fine and high-bred. She chose, for pur- 
poses of her own, to exert herself to gather up the 
fragments of speech between the owner of the voice 
and the friend to whom it was addressed, as the car 
rolled along through the noisy, crowded street. She 
gathered enough to understand that some one, for some 
reason, needed a female companion. 


mUE TO EERSELF. 


167 


When the speaker pulled the strap and descended 
from the car, Thersie followed her, impelled by an ini- 
pulse that she could not resist. As the lady placed her 
hand upon the latch of a handsome iron gate that gave 
ingress to a stately suburban residence, Thersie placed 
hers upon the lady^’s arm, and said, impulsively: 

“ Madam, did I not understand you to be speaking to 
your friend of some one who needed a female com- 
panion ?” 

“You did; I was speaking of a sister of my own.^^ 
You said that the companion must be educated and 
refined, and with heart enough to bear with the shadows 
that hover over that house — did you not?'’^ 

“I said all that. You are an attentive listener.’^ 

“ I want the place. Look at me, please. I am edu- 
cated, I believe lam refined. The shadows have fallen 
so thickly over my own pathway of late that the glare 
of the sunshine is hateful. 

She threw up her veil and displayed a face so patheti- 
cally sweet in its shadowy gloom, so high-bred in its 
gentle self-assertion, that it carried its own recommenda- 
tion with it. 

“ Will you not give me a trial 

“My child, you are young to talk so hopelessly. Per- 
haps it would be doing you an injury to grant your re- 
quest; I forewarn you, it is not a house of rejoicing you 
would be going into. But I think you are the rare com- 
bination that I wish for.'’^ 

“All the better. I would rather go to a house of 
mourning. You will let me go?'^ ^ 

“She does not even live in the city.'’^ 

^^All the better.” 

“ But on a very lonely plantation.” 

“ I would not care if it were in a vast wilderness.” 

“Your parents might object.” 

“I have neither father, nor mother, nor brother.” 

“You are absolutely your own mistress?” 

^ ^Absolutely.” 

“Then I feel at liberty to negotiate with you. But 
not here on the banquette. Come in with me, and I 


168 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


will tell you exactly what will be required of you^ and 
what you will have to expect/^ 

Unhesitatingly Thersie followed her through the iron 
gateway, up a tasselated marble pathway, into a house 
that abounded in evidences of refinement and luxury. 

Two hours later she stood once more before the glass 
in her own room, carefully folding her veil and smooth- 
ing out the wrinkles in her gloves with the mechanical 
neatness of habitude. The flush had gone out of her 
face, and her eyes had lost the glittering brilliancy of 
excitement, but there was a resolute compression of her 
lips that spoke of irrevocable decision. She glanced 
wistfully about the pretty room, and the first tears she 
had shed that day dimmed her vision, as she said, aloud: 

“A. few more short hours, and the place that has 
known me all my girlhood shall know me no more, for 
ever! Oh! Emily, my sister, what have you done?^'’ 


TJRUE TO HERSELF. 


169 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

A QUEER HOUSEHOLD. 

Y OU ARE sure you have made no mistake?’^ A 
timid voice conveyed this dubious inquiry into the 
outer darkness of a gloomy, forest-like inclosure, toward 
the spot where a bulky form stood dimly outlined, as the 
driver of Mrs. Costa^s carriage held open a wide gate 
and clucked imperatively to his well-trained horses 
to pass through it. 

‘M'm likely to do it now, ainT I, missy, seein^ as Use 
been drivin^ this yer vehickle, man an' boy, since ever 
before you was a-pesterin' about livin' fall, and them yer 
horses wor'n't even foaled !" 

The good-nature of the tones cancelled tlie freedom 
of the words, and silenced the doubter Avithin the ve- 
hicle. 

‘^1 beg pardon," said Thersie, timorously, as she 
shrank back into the half- recumbent posture she had 
occupied before this stoppage at the outer gates of her 
new home. 

Of course the man was right, but it did look so exces- 
sively gloomy, she argued Avithin herself, so little like 
the approach to any abode of civilized human beings, 
much less the home of people of refinement and. Avealth, 
as she had every reason to suppose this Mrs Costa to be. 

There was no use straining her eyes to spy out the 
land. The shadoAvs of night Avere thickening fast; it 
was not likely that much of her new surroundings Avould 
be revealed to her on this first occasion. 

She had been able to discern that they had turned 
very abruptly from the main road into this gloomy in- 
closure, through a high-posted gate-Avay, and she could 
now discern that they were driving through acres of 


170 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


unkept |)arkland, where intrusive undergrowth grew 
rank and thick at the feet of the numberless tall and 
sombre trees^ whose swaying branches made sad, weird 
music under the awakening touch of the night wind. 

She was growing very tired of her lonely occupancy of 
Mrs. Costae’s stately family coach, having driven twelve 
miles over such swamp-roads as she had never before 
imagined the existence of since leaving the steamer on 
which she had taken her flight from home. 

She was wondering how many more miles of travel 
were before her with a driver who was scarcely more 
companionable than the beasts he drove, when suddenly 
another gate was opened for them by some unseen 
agency, and once more peering into the outer darkness she 
discovered that they had exchanged the forest trees for 
close-clipped shrubbery and were grinding their way 
around a circular gravel drive. 

Of their own volition the tired horses stopped in front 
of a long, low-roofed, gloomy-looking house and their 
bulky driver opened the carriage-door with a superfluity 
of bang. 

Well, missy, here we be. They sent me for you, 
an^ I done fotch you safe an^ soun^ Pse puflormed my 
sheer uv de contrac’. All you^se got to do now is to fin’’ 
jo’ way to de parlo^, an^ make ye^self at home an^ happy 
if jo’ kin,^^ he added, sotto voce, as he climbed nimbly 
back into his seat, after depositing Thersie with all her 
bundles and wraps upon a veranda which seemed to 
stretch on both sides of her to an interminable length. 

^^But I donT know where the parlor isl” she called 
after the retreating Jehu; then fell to-speculating as to 
the probable j)roximity of dogs. 

But the remorseless crack of the drivers whip and the 
grinding of the carriage-wheels on the gravel as he drove 
rapidly toward the stables was all the response she re- 
ceived. 

Surely some one is expecting me,^^ the forlorn little 
exile said, aloud, and plucking up courage and her 
hand-bag, she strode resolutely toward the inhospitably 
closed door, upon whose threshold she had been dumped 
down. 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


171 


Through the tinted glass of the side-lights she saw 
somebody advancing toward her with a lamp in hand, 
and as the door opened she saw framed within the open 
space a figure which, to her excited imagination, could 
more properly have been looked for within the precincts 
of some old ^Moorish palace. 

Tall, slender and statuesque, with the li^ht of the lamp 
held high over her head, casting Eembrandtish lights 
and shadows over her clear quadroon skin, two braids of 
glossy black hair obtruding from her gay head handker- 
chief, she fastened a pair of those large lustrous eyes, 
which seem to be the exclusive property of the quadroon, 
on Thersie, as she said in a slow, quiet voice: 

This is Miss 

Gaylord!"' said Thersie, impulsively, halting only a 
second over this impromptu substitution of her middle 
name for that of Gordon. 

‘‘Yes! Well, Miss Gaylord, I was to say to you that, 
if you did not find yourself too much fatigued by your 
drive, I was to conduct you to my mistress" room. She 
hopes you will excuse the formality of this request on 
the score of her age and her infirmities."" 

“lam not at all tired,"" said Thersie, briskly, if not 
quite truthfully, “and I should like very much to make 
Mrs. Costa's acquaintance to-night." 

It was evident to Thersie that this new-found ac- 
quaintance of hers (her Moorish princess, as she men- 
tally christened her before the evening was over) did not 
believe in any superfluous use of words. 

She placed the lamp on a side-table in the hall while 
slie locked and bolted the front-door, then, possessing 
herself of all Miss Gaylord's bundles, she once more 
took up the lamp, and with a quiet “ This way if you 
please, miss," preceded her through a succession of long 
lialls and short halls, narrow corridors and wide veran- 
das, skirting a sort of inner court-yard, until they 
reached the remote end of what seemed to be a long 
wing to a long-bodied house, when she gently opened a 
door that gave ingress into a chamber whose central 
figure, its one occupant, was the only distinct impression 


172 


TRUE TO HEB8ELF. 


that Miss Graylord carried away with her that memorable 
night. 

""Mrs. Costa, I have brought Miss Gaylord,” said the 
Moorish princess, holding the door well open for Thersie 
to pass into the stately presence of the mistress. 

Near the center of the large, square room into which 
she was ushered Thersie saw a high-backed, richly-carved 
chair (for all the world like the bishop’s chair in the 
chancel of the church at home, she thought in a flash) 
in which was seated a stately old woman, clad in stiff 
black satin, with folds of snowy illusion laid precisely 
over her bosom. 

A cap of dainty lace frills crowned her white hair; her 
hands, small, white and aristocratic, were folded se- 
renely over a large white feather fan which lay upon her 
lap. Her eyes, black, bright and piercing, were fixed in 
cold scrutiny upon the advancing figure of her hired 
companion. 

By her side stood a small table covered with a richly 
embroidered cloth. On the table was a vase of spring 
jonquils, a silver-mounted vinaigrette, a copy of Kenan’s 
""Life of Christ” and a volume of Ouida’s ""Chandos” 
and a small hand-bell. On the cassock upon which her 
feet rested a big Angora cat curled itself in luxurious 
slumber. 

An air of stillness, almost of stagnation, seemed to 
pervade this room and its occupants. An oppressive 
odor of flowers and Oriental perfumes made the air heavy 
almost to a stifling degree. Warm as the evening was, a 
fire burned brightly in the grate, making Thersie long 
to possess herself of the fan clasped in those aristocratic 
hands. And this was Mrs. Costa. 

""You can go, Leah; I will ring for you when Miss 
Gaylord wishes to retire.” 

Mrs. Costa’s dismissal of the Moorish princess pre- 
ceded any notice of the stranger who was within her 
gates — who stood there more entirely ill-at-ease than 
ever in her life before. 

Leah disappeared in her own slow, dignified fashion, 
inexorably closing the door after her, as if fresh air was 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


173 


the destroying element against which, before all else, it 
was her duty to guard the precious life embodied in that 
satin-clad form in the bishop’s chair. 

You will please take a chair and bring it quite close 
to me. Miss Gaylord; my eyes are troubling me seri- 
ously. I can form no accurate conception of bodies at a 
distance. ” 

Thersie brought a light chair and located herself in it 
according to directions with very much the expression 
she would have assumed in a dentist’s chair, wondering 
within herself, as she looked incredulously into the 
bright black eyes of the mistress, if folks in bishops’ 
chairs ever condescend to fib, and if those were the eyes 
she had been employed to save. 

^^You know, I presume, young lady, that you have 
very little to hope for in the way of recreation or enjoy- 
ment under this roof, ^y sister writes me that she gave 
you a full understanding of what you were to expect.” 

She did,” said Thersie, laconically, as Mrs. Costa 
paused for some sort of a reply. 

But I do not wish you to regard yourself as com- 
mitted to any promise. Your duties will be light, but I 
am not such a novice in reading character, not to have 
discovered at a first glance that your life has been spent 
in a sphere vastly different from the one you will find 
yourself in as my companion. You have been a society 
girl.” 

Seclusion, rest and quiet are what I am in search of 
now, madam.” Thersie answered, evasively, shuddering 
as the thought of Josiah Phillips and his loathsome pur- 
suit of her, and of Emily’s obstinate infatuation about 
him recurred to her with torturing vividness. 

think I shall like you,” Mrs. Costa said, with an 
air of decision, after a desultory talk of half an hour’s 
duration. I have had trouble, young lady, but I hope 
it has not hardened my heart. You shall not regard 
yourself as bound by any promise, until you have been 
here one month. I hope you will discover something to 
interest yourself in. We will talk more at length to- 
morrow. I had some natural curiosity to see how the 


174 


TB TIE TO HERSELF. 


• first stranger whom I have ever admitted as an inmate of 
my home looked and comported herself. I am not afraid 
of you. You can be trusted. I am sorry you are so pretty 
and so young/^ with which peculiar peroration, Mrs. 
Costa touched a bell on the table at her elbow, which was 
almost instantly answered by Leah. 

"‘Leah, you will show Miss Gaylord to her room, and 
you will see that she wants for nothing. I will say good- 
night now, young lady,'’^ which she did most graciously, 
by extending one delicate, blue-veined hand and drawing 
Thersie down upon the cassock to press her lips upon the 
girFs soft forehead. 

Then Leah took her away along the same route by 
which they had come, until they reached the main body 
of the house once more, and she was inducted into her 
own dominion, and left alone. 

“ Charmingr^ she said, aloud, as the door closed upon 
LeaVs retreating form; and her eyes roamed over the 
spacious and handsomely furnished room which was to 
be her own especial retreat. "" Charming, elegant, mys- 
terious, incomprehensible! Of one thing I can rest as- 
sured. The proprieties will never be outraged in the 
daily routine of this queer household. I believe if that 
Moorish princess were about to commit murder, she would 
do it with such stately courtesy as to win the ready for- 
giveness of her victim.-’^ 

A small, round table, covered with a white napkin, 
attracted her attention. 

She raised the napkin, to discover that a tempting 
and substantial luncheon had been placed at her dis- 
posal. 

“ They actually eat, then, in this enchanted palace, 
and know how to cater to civilized palates in this mys- 
terious mansion I Happy for me if the mysteries of this 
strange home-circle shall prove of such absorbing in- 
terest as to make me forget that I have no home — no 
home, oh! my sister — until this decided move on my 
part shall have convinced you of the futility of your 
strange plans, and you voluntarily give them up and 
promise me I may return in peace! How long will that 


TRUE TO HER8ELF. 


175 


be — oh! how long? But how will I ever know when she 
has repented? She does not know where I am, and she 
does not know, or did not until she found my note, that 
I had taken her at her word. There was no one I 
could advise with, no one to tell me no^ to go, but one 
— only one; and he — oh! he — how could I go to him 
And Thersie fell to sleep that night, to dream of Mrs. 
Costo, Leslie Davenport and the big Angora cat. 


176 


IBTIE TO HBBSELE, 


CHAPTER XIX. 

"^THE mistress! THE MADAM I AHD THE MASTER!” 

T HERESA'S first impulse on opening her eyes upon 
her strange surroundings, the next morning, was 
to dress hastily and start upon an exploring expedition. 

‘'It looks fresh and sweet and lovely out yonder,” she 
said, aloud, standing in her dressing-gown by the win- 
dow, from which she viewed a sloping lawn stretching 
far and green until it reached the wire fence separating 
it from the woodland through which she had driven the 
previous night. "And I would like to get from under 
this mysterious roof for a bracing walk and an hour's 
communion with nature before entering upon the day's 
ordeal. Nature is herself here — ^but all the human be- 
ings seem to be wearing masks.” 

She was somewhat amused at herself for the precision 
with which she performed her toilet that morning. 

"All for one old lady! And she, presumably, pur- 
blind!” 

But as daintiness of apparel was essential to her own 
physical comfort, she adjusted with her wonted skill 
every ruffle and bow. 

Her desire to "commune with nature,” however, 
was frustrated by the premature appearance of Leah, 
who, after a polite precautionary knock, entered the 
room in her own slow, stately fashion, and said: 

"I have come. Miss Gaylord, to show you to the 
breakfast-room. Mrs. Costa hopes you will not find 
our early country hours inconvenient. She will be 
pleased to see you in her room at ten o'clock.” 

"Then she will not breakfast with me?” said Thersie, 
preparing to follow the Moorish princess without delay. 

" The mistress never breakfasts with the family,” an- 
swered Leah, laconically. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


177 


Burning to ask bolt outright what this mysterious 
family ^ consisted of, Thersie followed her guide into 
the spacious breakfast-room, where, on a round table in 
the center of the apartment, she saw an elaborate array 
of covered dishes encircling a solitary plate, napkin 
and knife and fork. And behind the solitary chair 
stood a man-servant who, for dignity, taciturnity and a 
general secretiveness, was a fitting companion for Leah 
the Silent. 

Andrews, this is Miss Gaylord! You are to attend 
to her every wish.^^ With which peremptory introduc- 
tion, Miss Gaylord was passed into the temporary keep- 
ing of Andrews, vice Leah removed. 

^^For all the world like Beauty in the enchanted 
palace of the Beast, Thersie thought, as she smoothed 
her napkin over her lap and submitted herself to An- 
drews^ silent but efficient ministrations. 

I wonder if sudden death would overtake me if I 
should venture to ask Andrews a question or two,^^ she 
wondered within herself; but Andrews wore such a 
thoroughly padlocked appearance, that she concluded to 
bide her time and not to try and force the secrets of this 
Palace of Discretion from any one of its guardians. 
Assuredly her ten o^clock interview with Mrs. Costa 
would place her in possession of all that it was needful 
for her to know. 

One experiment she did try upon Mrs. Costa^s pad- 
locked butler. 

Andrews, she asked, as she curled her napkin back 
into its silver filigree ring, are there any pleasant, shady 
walks within easy reach of the house? I do not want 
to go far this morning, but I must have a run in the 
fresh air.^^ 

The mistress nor the madam never walks,” Andrews 
answered, with ungrammatical austerity; ‘^they rides. 
The master walks when he is here, which he ain't now. 
There's walks in every direction.” 

The mistress, the madam and the master!” Thersie 
repeated softly to herself. Mysterious trinity! I 
could scarcely have chosen a better spot in which to be 


178 


TRUE TO EEBSELF. 


lost sight of by my world. In this strange place, and 
among these strange people, no one will ever care to in- 
quire into my story, or my reasons for wanting to be 
hidden away.-’^ Then aloud: You can say, Andrews, 

if I am asked for, that I have just strolled out for a 
short walk — will you? and that I shall be back before 
ten.^^ 

Yes’m, i/youYe asked for,” Andrews said, as if that 
were a remote possibility, holding the door courteously 
open for the young lady to pass through. 

Walking with her brisk, light step back through the 
long, narrow halls to her own bed-room, Theresa opened 
the door suddenly, and, as she did so, caught a glimpse 
of a white, lace-trimmed flounce flitting hastily through 
one of the long French windows opening on to the 
veranda, while a delicious odor of strong Oriental per- 
fume pervaded the atmosphere. 

A light, mocking laugh, with a slightly hysterical ring 
in it, came distinctly enough to her ears to assure her 
that the retreating flounce was no trick of the imagina- 
tion! 

^^An Eve! Then my enchanted palace has one 
groveling element in it, after all,” she said, standing in 
half-amused anger over her open trunk, whose contents 
had evidently been hastily flung back by this unknown 
invader of her premises. 

Closing the trunk and locking it, she tied on a broad- 
rimmed straw hat, and ventured out in search of those 
walks whose utility or beauty were recognized by ^^the 
master” alone. 

On the black and white tasselated pavement that 
flanked the long front veranda, she stood for a moment 
to take a better view of the exterior of the house, whose 
outlines had been so dimly shadowed forth as she drove 
up to it on the previous evening. 

It presented the monotonous appearance of so many 
Southern plantation homes — Just so much space cut up 
into so many doors and windows. 

To the left of the house was a long, low glass-house 
for the preservation of flowers in winter. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


179 


^ To the right, a few yards distant, was what looked 
like a ten-pin alley. A ten-pin alley! For whose use? 
Thersie wondered, turning her steps in that direction. 

Perhaps '"the mistress, the madam and the master'' 
beguile their trinityship in this worldly fashion. 

A few steps brought her into position to look through 
the open doorway, and to hear the noisy rumbling of 
heavy balls as they were sent with well-directed , aim in 
the direction of the pins. 

Evidently the alley was one in constant use, everything 
about it was in perfect repair, and an active mulatto 
boy was stooping over to replace the pins as Thersie 
came into the doorway. 

"Stand aside!" the command went out in a clear, 
firm voice, and was promptly obeyed by the attendant. 
"Curse the luck!" came jDetulantly from the unseen 
player (who was hidden from her by the open door) as 
the ball rolled harmlessly by on one side. 

Thersie stole silently away. "The master must have 
come back," she said, proceeding briskly on her walk, 
which led her through such a tangle of wild-wood and 
clustering foliage and tempting deviations that she was 
rendered almost oblivious of the near approach of the 
hour for her appointed interview with Mrs. Costa. 

Hastily retracing her steps, guided by a gilded 
weather-cock she had observed in the little cupola of the 
ten-pin alley, she once more found herself gazing into 
the open doorway of that apartment. 

The sound of the balls had ceased now, and the boy 
was busied sweeping the alley out, while pacing up and 
down in the billiard-room adjoining it, in the quiet en- 
joyment of a cigar, Thersie caught a hasty glimpse of the 
back of the tired player. It was a strikingly handsome 
form, tall and powerfully built, while almost to his shoul- 
ders fell in thick, wavy masses, his snow-white hair. 

Permitting herself only one hasty glance at the retreat- 
ing form, she moved on in the direction of the house. 

"The master has come home, Leah, has he not?" she 
asked of that official, whom she found arranging her 
room on her return. 


180 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


No, miss; not that I know of/^ Leah answered, look- 
ing at her with as near an approach to surprise as she 
was ever detected in. 

‘^Oh/^ said Thersie, apologizing to that look. 

I saw him playing ten-pins when I went walk- 



^^That was only Mr. Charles, said Leah, with such 
contemptuous emphasis laid upon the ^^only,'’^ that 
Thersie was given to understand distinctly that Mr. 
Charles was a vastly inferior human production to the 
master. 

But with that remark Leah^s explanation terminated. 

Her inward hope, that the coming interview with Mrs. 
Costa would throw some light upon these fast-crowding 
mysteries, was destined to fruition. 

Ten o^clock found her seated in the presence of that 
stately dame, whose appearance was so entirely unaltered, 
even to the placement of her cassock and her Angora cat, 
that Thersie wondered if she had been to bed at all. 

I will, first of all. Miss G-aylord, give you such items 
concerning the family and the household of which you 
may now be considered a member, as I deem it necessary 
for your satisfaction and clear understanding of your 
position and your responsibilities. If I thought you un- 
worthy of the degree of confidence this will necessitate, 
I should infinitely prefer your saying to me at once that 
you -decline entering into arrangements with me. If 
you are not prepared, dear, to ignore my family affairs, 
even in your correspondence, say so frankly.’’^ 

There was almost an appeal in the old lady’s soft brown 
eyes as she paused for Thersie’s reply. 

"^My dear, madam, rest easy. I shall have no corre- 
spondence. Let me give you my story first, Mrs. Costa. 
It is due you. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I have 
no father nor mother. My only relative is a married 
sister. I am not poor. My sister, with whom I lived, has 
lately made my home unbearable to me by reason of her 
unnatural persistence in trying to force me into a mar- 
riage with a man utterly obnoxious to me. A few weeks 
ago she told me I should have to consent to that mar- 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


181 


riage, or leave her house. I chose the latter alternative. I 
preferred a secret flight to renewed altercation. She does 
not know where I am, nor shall she until I have reason 
to believe she will relinquish her unnatural and inexpli- 
cable designs upon my future peace of mind. I need 
only add that I make this statement as purely confidential.^^ 

Did you love any one else, dear?’^ Mrs. Costa asked, 
laying a blue-veined hand on Thersie^s bowed head. 

The old lady^’s voice had a tenderness in it born of 
woman^’s universal sympathy with that tenderest of 
themes — Love. 

But Thersie^s pretty head sank all the lower, until the 
flushed cheeks rested in her folded palms. 

You should not ask that question,^" she said with a 
quivering voice. 

^^Yet you have answered it very fully, dear. I am 
old, but I have been young. There ! now you must brace 
yourself for a business interview.'’'’ 

Her hand lingered with such caressing tenderness on 
the poor little exile’s bowed head that the task of brac- 
ing herself seemed, for a short while made impossible, as 
Thersie dissolved into a sudden and unaccountable burst 
of tears. 

When she grew calmer Mrs. Costa proceeded to in- 
itiate her as an accepted inmate into the Palace of Dis- 
cretion. 

We are rather an uncongenial family circle here, my 
dear, of whom you will have to make the best. I am 
sole mistress of this plantation, and have made my home 
here ever since I saw fit to renounce the gay world en- 
tirely. My time is spent regularly, if monotonously. I 
find my eyes getting into such a condition that unless I 
am careful I shall lose the sight of them altogether. 
Beading is my principal solace. I shall expect you to 
give me your company from ten o’clock in the morning 
until one o’clock. After dinner I shall desire your com- 
pany in my usual drive. After tea you are at liberty to 
dispose of yourself as may best amuse you. You will 
find a piano in an excellent state of repair in the library. 
You perform, I take it for granted?’" 


182 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


^‘Yes, madam; and my music is my solace/^ says 
Thersie, brightening perceptibly at the good news that 
her beloved instrument was within reach of her. 

That is well. Now then, my dear, I have given 
you to understand the full scope of your duties. No 
one else in this household has any demand upon you 
beyond such voluntary acts of courtesy and kindliness 
as you may see fit to extend. The servants are as abso- 
lutely yours to command as they are mine. The other 
members of my household are my daughter-in-law, whom 
you will meet at dinner. I shall leave you to form your 
own estimate of her character, and to map out your own 
line of conduct toward her. You will find this one of 
your most difficult undertakings, but I shall not forestall 
your views by any information concerning her. You 
have judgment and discretion, 1 am i?ure. You will 
also meet at dinner-time the only male representative of 
my line who resides near me — my nephew, Charles Shaw. 
He will not enliven your stay while among us. Charles 
is always the gentleman, but he is mentally unhinged. 
You will now understand that it is no ordinary house- 
hold you have entered. If you find that the shadows 
which brood perpetually over this house are likely to 
prove too depressing, remember, child, you are bound by 
no promise. Occasionally the sun shines even for me. 
It is when my son comes to pay me his semi-annual visit. 
I think then that life is still worth the living. But an 
old woman^s rhapsodies over the son who will always 
be ‘ her boy^ to her are scarcely worth the time they con- 
sume ill the ears of uninterested listeners. I Hope you 
will make free and liberal use of the piano, dear. I 
should like my son to hear some cheerful and pleasant 
sounds when he comes next to visit me.^^ 

When is Mr. Costa looked for?” Thersie asked, with 
feminine tact, pursuing the subject she perceived was so 
gratifying to the mother’s ears. 

But a (to her) startling interruption interfered with 
any reply to her most natural question: 

"Ht is altogether out of the question that I should 
wait until dinner-time, mamma, to bid our guest wel- 
come. Miss Gaylord, kiss me. You come like a bene- 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


183 


diction. Ah! how delighted I am to have some one 
fresh from the great, glorious, breezy world to talk to 
in this'moldy prison-house!'^ 

Thersie had involuntarily risen at the sound of this 
new voice — a sweet, winning, persuasive voice it was — 
and found herself looking slightly downward into a face 
that wore for her an inexplicably familiar expression. ^ 

It was a very beautiful, but perfectly soulless face that 
she looked into. The white-robed form had the grace- 
ful sinuosity of a serpent as she coiled her arms about 
Thersie's waist, and pressed her own full, red lips to the 
young girl's. 

There was an arch defiance in her large black eyes, 
and the pout of a spoiled child rested perpetually upon 
her full, red lips when in repose. 

Her black hair was wound in a coronet high on top of 
her pretty head, and in its folds nestled a flame-colored 
bow of ribbon, kept in place by a large, pearl-headed 
pin. 

^^My daughter-in-law. Miss Gaylord," said Mrs. Costa, 
with a sudden assumption of icy dignity, which sent a 
chill through Thersie's veins, and made her wonder how 
any one could find it in his or her heart to bear malice 
against such a beautiful creature as the one who still re- 
tained her hand in more than a friendly clasp. 

Thersie's natural impulse was to laugh, and inform 
Mrs. Costa that her peculiar style of introduction had 
left her in doubt as to what she was to call this new ac- 
quaintance of hers, when the younger lady herself solved 
the riddle. 

Call me Isodora, please. I hate every other name. 
I shall hate you, too, if you refuse this, my first re- 
quest." 

Mrs. Costa's previous remarks that she should leave 
her to form her own estimate of this daughter-in-law," 
had prepared Thersie for some eccentricities, and not 
knowing how far those eccentricities might extend, she 
- concluded compliance would be the better part of valor, 
so long as there was no real sacrifice of dignity nor prin- 
ciple involved. Hence she said, very brightly: 

I am quite sure I should find it impossible to hate 


184 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


you, and I wish to make it equally impossible for you to 
hate me, so, Isodora it shall be — with — my mistress^ 
consent,^^ she added, turning with a sweet, upward-look 
into Mrs. Oosta^s face, as that lady, who had risen to 
make her formal presentation of her daughter-in-law, 
stood looking down upon them with her sternest expres- 
sion of countenance. 

^^Itisa matter of perfect indilference to me/^ that 
lady replied. ‘‘I believe Miss Gaylord, if you will ring 
for Leah I will dismiss you until dinner; probably 3^ou 
have a greal deal to do before you will feel at home in 
your new apartments.'’^ 

^^Come!” said Isodora, locking her arm in Thersie^s, 
as they left the room together; thank me for gaining 
you your liberty. The old tyrant just dismissed you be- 
cause she could not endure me in her sight any longer. 

Thersie drew back in pained surprise. 

'^Ah! do not let us talk of her unkindly. She has 
been lovely to me.'’'’ 

‘^Lovely! Bah! she is an old cat! I hate her!” 

This passionate outburst was made with so little evi- 
dence of reluctance, with such a blaze of defiance in the 
beautiful Spanish eyes and with such infantile spiteful- 
ness, that Theresa looked at her in a curiously inspective 
fashion. 

I know! I see! You think I am another cat! Well, 
I have claws! Beware of them!'’'’ She was a step or 
two in advance of Thersie, witii her hand upon the 
door-knob of her own room, and paused to throw a 
gayly-defiant glance over her left shoulder. Good-by, 
now, until feeding-time! We do not dine here, we feed. 
This is a menagerie! We have all sorts of animals, 
from the cat up to the bear. Thank Heaven, the bear 
is given to roaming, else life would indeed be insupport- 
able. Au revoir. I will give you a list of the animals 
for your guidance and warning some time.” 

That gayly-defiant look came to Thersie as a revela- 
tion — a revelation which filled her soul with dismay. She 
believed that she saw before her the original of the por- 
trait that had fallen upon her in Leslie Davenport's 
parlor! 


mu£i TO UEUSELF. 


185 


CHAPTER XX. 

MK. PHILLIPS SUGGESTS A CLEW. 

A t that same hour, on that same day, Mrs. Fred- 
eric Ballantyne sat in her library, awaiting once 
more the coming of the man into whose power she had 
fallen, and from whose magnanimity she had so little to 
hope. 

Thersie^s note — the note that had been found on her 
bureau late in the afternoon of the day she had taken her 
flight — lay upon her lap. 

It had been no difiicult matter for this young sister of 
hers to elude her grasp. What with Frederic always at 
his place of business, and herself sunk into such melan- 
choly apathy that the house had become almost tomb- 
like in its solemnity, small wonder that Thersie had grown 
fond of spending hours in the bright little cottage home 
which Fanny and Everard had fitted up for themselves 
and Mother Ballantyne immediately after their marriage. 

Thus it came about that although Theresa had really 
steamed out of port early in the morning, the short, ex- 
planatory note she had left behind her had not been dis- 
covered until tea-time, when her prolonged absence 
aroused Mrs. Ballantyne from the gloomy reverie now 
become habitual with her. ' 

She had sent for Mr. Phillips this morning in order to 
put Thersie^s note into his possession. She was rather 
glad, she believed, that the child had solved their diffi- 
culties in this fashion. Now that hard old man would 
have to make some easier terms with her as the price of 
secrecy. 

When the lawyer came, she simply placed the note in 
his hand, watching him with furtive anxiety as he read it. 
The purple flood of passion that rushed over his coarse 


186 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


face and neck, burning into bis eyes and quivering in bis 
nostrils, appalled ber; and tbe bope of being able to make 

easier terms'’^ with him died suddenly and for ever, 
even before bis wrath found vent in one coarse outburst : 

Curse me for a bungler in allowing you so much 
timeP^ 

Mr. Phillips, said Emily, with a faint effort at ber 
old-time, haughty, self-assertion, I must request you 
to moderate your excitement. I am physically unable to 
endure such expositions.'’^ 

You tell me that your sister has left ISTew Orleans, 
and that 3^11 are profoundly ignorant of her where- 
abouts. Why, the girl Avas never outside the city limits 
in her life before! It’s preposterous! And 3mu expect 
me to swalloAV such flimsy ” • 

Stop, sir! Bear in mind to whom you are addressing 
your insults.” 

Mrs. Ballantyne rose regally with the words. 

I do, madam,” said the lawyer, pausing in his irate 
march up and down the long library, to look with cruel 
mockery down upon her as she seated herself again and 
leaned Avearily back in her arm-chair, so Avan of face and 
worn of form that no creature with one atom of sensi- 
bility could have voluntarily added to her evident suffer- 
ings. 

do, Mrs. Ballantyne,” he said, with mock cour- 
tesy. I bear in mind that I am speaking to a lady 
Avho is under a binding obligation to me, the conditions 
of Avhich she is trying to elude.” 

Elude! Hoav?” Emily asked, dropping from the 
haughty tone, which Avas the natural assertion of her lost 
dignity, to that phase of hopeless humility that Avas 
part, and not the least part, of her mighty punishment. 

By removing my son’s promised Avife out of his 
reach.” 

^^You believe, then, that I connived at my sister’s 
flight?” 

^^By the eternal, I do, madam!” 

And that this note Avhich you have just read ” 

Is a fixed-up thing betAveen you.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


187 


You think me capable of 

Bah!^^^ The interruption came so rudely, that Emily 
flushed with hot but helpless indignation. ^‘Do \ 
think you capable of forging a trifling, insigniflcant 
note? I suppose that is what you were about to ask me,^^ 
emphasizing it with indignant looks! Which would 
demand the most nerve, to do that, or to destroy a 
communication fro-m a dying man, whereby a disin- 
herited son would be restored to all his rights and 
privileges under his father's will?" 

Emily blanched, but did not reply. 

What creatures women are for quibbles! Put things 
squarely before them, and they become terror-stricken. 
Light, light, is what you all need, and what you are 
most afraid of." 

What can I do," the unhappy woman asked, pres- 
ently, lifting her Jiead from the hand she had rested it 
on, ^^to prove that, however guilty I imiy have been in 
other respects, I have acted in good faith with you?" 

What can you do? Why, the conditions of our con- 
‘tract are not altered in any one particular. Six months 
of the original time allotted you for working up this 
marriage still remains to 3^11. It suits my wishes and 
my purposes to have Theresa Gordon for my daughter-in- 
law. An alliance with the families of Gordon and 
Ballantyne will be of social benefit to the family of 
Phillipses. In point of fact, it was altogether unneces- 
sary to have given me the annoyance of listening to this 
escapade of the girl's. She will have to walk more cir- 
cumspectly when she becomes Josiah's wife." 

A shudder of disgust ran through all Emily's /veins, 
but her compact with this coarse creature had been 
made unconsciously when the compact with evil had 
been made consciously, and abide by it she must. 

'‘But what can I do, Mr. Phillips? Advise me; I 
seem to be losing all my powers of reflection or decision. " 

"Find Theresa Gordon, that is the first step you had 
best take. I use the woY^fincl advisedly." 

"I have not the slightest clew to her whereabouts." 

"Nevertheless, she must be found." 


188 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Tell me how to go about it.” 

What does your husband think of her disappear- 
ance?” 

He is bewildered and grieved, and imagines there 
has been foul play. He is to-day putting a trusted 
detective to work to trace her.” 

Why should he put himself to all that trouble when 
you have her note proclaiming this a voluntary act of 
desertion from her home?” 

‘^You forget! My husband knows nothing of my 
importunities for your son^s sake. I have not shown 
him her note. He does not even know that Josiah was — 
is — a suitor for Thersie^s hand. He knows only that 
my sister has disappeared from her home.” 

Lends himself to the abduction theory, does he? 
Wonder he does not fancy she has committed suicide for 
the sake of her lost lover, Everard Ballantyne. I sup- 
pose, however, that crowd professes ignorance?” 

^^They know absolutely nothing about it.” 

There is one more person in this city on whom our 
young Lady Paramount was in the habit of bending her 
sweetest glances.” 

Whom do you mean?” 

That black-browed churl in Carondelet Street — Leslie 
Davenport.” 

At the mention of that name Mrs. Ballantyne^s pulse 
bounded feverishly. She, too, in the first moments of 
her bewildered excitement over her sister’s flight, had 
thought of Leslie Davenport. 

Could it be that the mad girl had placed herself under 
the protection of this man, whom, in her romantic soul, 
she had exalted into a demi-god of heroism and virtue? 
but to the lawyer she said, with bitterest resentment: 

^^Why should you include an innocent girl in the 
insults which I have placed it out of my own power to 
resent? How could Mr. Davenport know anything of 
my sister’s whereabouts?” 

y I have neither time nor inclination this morning. 
Mistress Ballantyne, to explain the ways and wherefores 
of all my suspicions. They are generally pretty well 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


189 


founded. I observed, on the occasion of that enter- 
tainment which you gave ostensibly to bring Josiah into 
contact with his future wife, that Mr. Davenport, a man 
notoriously averse to female society, was present. I 
noticed also — for, of course, Theresa was an object of 
my marked consideration on that occasion — that he took 
a very considerable amount of interest in her, securing 
i\, tete-a-tete in hall sitting-room, etc., all of which 
to a man with his eyes open meant something. And, as 
chance would have it, I was passing this house one night 
not earlier than eleven o^clock, and saw Mr. Davenport 
take leave of your sister at your door.'’^ 

Then Emily Ballantyne’s cup seemed full indeed, and 
she cried ‘aloud in her anguish: 

‘^Ah, donT tell me that! don’t tell me that I have 
been deceived, duped, hoodwinked by that child, who 
has been a daughter to me, and upon whose guileless 
purity I would have staked all my hopes of Heaven.” 

Deuce take all womankind!” said the lawyer, look- 
ing down in dismay upon the storm of emotion he had 
so unwittingly evoked. Did I say there was anything 
wrong about my son’s future wife? Couldn’t she have 
been coming home from some entertainment with that 
fellow? Didn’t I just mention the fact to prove to you 
that, much as he hates women generally, he would not 
be averse to taking our runaway under his protecting 
wing?” 

^^Mr. Davenport is a friend of my husband’s. He 
would not connive at any disgrace which might attach 
to him.” 

Curse your roundabout style of reasoning! I am 
done with suggestions. All I have to say is this: Either 
within six months Theresa Gordon becomes the wife of 
Josiah Phillips, or EveraTd Ballantyne and his brother, 
your husband, shall be placed in possession of such doc- 
umentary evidence as shall go far toward proving the 
infallible Mrs. Frederic Ballantyne an impostor of the 
blackest dye !” ^ ^ 

Uttering these words in a harsh, loud voice, gazing 
down upon his victim with remorseless cruelty in his 


190 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


eyes, tlie lawyer paused only long enough to assure him- 
self that her death-like silence did not indicate a swoon, 
before he seized his hat and gloves, and left the house 
in wrathful haste. 

The loud slamming of the front door after him 
startled Emily from her trance-like quiet. 

Almost staggering to the bell-rope, she rang for Felix, 
ordered the carriage to be brought around immediately, 
and left the room to prepare for a drive to Leslie Dav- 
enport’s place of business. Half an hour later found 
her closeted with that gentleman in his private office, 
and the tale of Theresa’s flight confided to him. 

I came to you, Mr. Davenport,” she said, in conclu- 
sion, because I believe you to be one of our best 
friends, and because that mad child had such unfalter- 
ing faith in your good judgment that I feared she might 
have thrown, herself upon you for advice.” 

You do me too much honor, madam,” he answered, 
with troubled eyes. Had your sister honored me to 
the extent you imagine, I hope 1 would have been found 
equal to the task of advising her for her own best in- 
terests. My slight acquaintance with Miss Gordon has 
not led me to believe that she was so poorly balanced as 
to have taken such a step as this without what seemed 
to her, at the time, good and sufficient cause. Pardon 
me, if I say to you that, having confided to me so far, 
it would be better for my chances of aiding you if you 
confided in me more fully, and without any reservations. 
Have you no reason to assign for this remarkable step?” 

I drove her to it!” Emily exclaimed, in one burst of 
genuineness. 

You drove her to it?” 

Yes. I, her only natural protector — I gave her to 
understand that she must either make up her mind to 
marry the husband I had chosen for her or seek a home 
elsewhere; but who would have thought she would have 
taken me at my word ?” 

'' I should,” said Leslie Davenport, with a soft light 
coming into his grave eyes. ^^Any one would who knew 
aught of your sistePs single-hearted, earnest nature. 


TRUE TO HER SELF. 


191 


Impnlsive as her actions sometimes are, her words are 
always simple, true and brave. She credited you with 
her own virtue, of always meaning what she says. I 
should never have imagined it possible, even in the 
Dark Ages, to coerce such a girl into an uncongenial 
marriage; but I had fancied that this -was too en- 
lightened an age for such effort to be possible or prac- 
ticable.^^ ^ 

Emily looked at him in helpless misery. How could 
she make him, or any one else, understand the frightful 
necessity for this sacrifice? What was it to him, at anv 
rate? Goaded into it by her own wretchedness, she cast 
a dart tipped with venomous malice. 

It is your experience, Mr. Davenport, that marriage 
contracted despite the wishes and warnings of friends, 
on a purely love-sick basis, always prove the happiest in 
the long rung!^^ 

Like a storm-cloud over the placid bosom of a sun-lit 
lake, the shadows swept over Leslie DavenporEs strong 
face, leaving it dark and stern in the extreme. 

In view of the fact that our acquaintance is not of 
recent date, madam, I dare not hope that your dart was 
sent at random. For your sake, I should prefer to think 
it had been. For my own, it matters little — I am become 
almost impervious. Touching the matter you did me 
the honor to call here upon, I have no information con- 
cerning your sister’s whereabouts. Should I become 
possessed of any, rest assured I shall make such use of it 
as shall best subserve Miss Gordon^s interests. 

Mrs. Ballantyne involuntarily arose. She felt the dis- 
missal in the tones of his voice, and she saw the shadows, 
which she had so cruelly evoked, still brooding over that 
strong, stern face. He was Fredericks friend, and she 
had wounded him causelessly, heartlessly! She would 
ask his forgiveness. She held out her hand almost plead- 
ingly. It w’as not accepted. Mr. Davenport, simply 
looked at her with grave inquiry in his eyes. 

‘^You are unforgiving, she said, flushing over her 
frustrated apology. 

I am," he answered, where forgiveness must include 


192 


TEUE TO HEESELF. 


intention. Permit me to hope that your anxiety con- 
cerning your sister may soon be relieved. 

So there was nothing for Emily to do but to drive back 
in solitary state to the house from which she had by her 
own harsh acts driven one after another of those who had 
helped to animate it with the spirit of love and youth 
and happiness, where she yielded herself up to purely 
womanly and helpless tears. ' 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


193 


CHAPTEK XXL 

TO EAETH. 

L eft alone, Mr. Davenport found it no easy 
matter to chain his attention oilce more to the 
routine of business which had received such a startling 
interruption. While with eye and hand he mechani- 
cally disposed of letter after letter with the methodical 
precision of a systematic routinist, with heart and brain 
he was cogitating the mystery of Theresa Gordon^s 
flight. 

^‘^Poor little donna! they thought to coerce you, did 
they? But you were true to yourself — preferring exile 
to ignominy. IPs safe to presume they wanted to barter 
your hand for gold. Such a child at heart! such a wise, 
strong little woman! I wonder where she has found a 
refuge? I can fancy her going about safe panoplied in 
her own sweet dignity — her own unassailable purity.” 

His face grew softer as he drifted into a kindly reverie 
over Donna Quixote, as he loved to call Thersie to him- 
self. 

The shadows seem to lift themselves from this lonely 
many’s heart, as if they could not abide there in peace 
when he opened it to admit that radiant guest, gentle 
Pity; and almost without his own consent he found him- 
self caressing this brave-hearted girl in his soul, because 
of the strength she had shown in refusing to submit to 
a loathsome bondage. 

Perhaps it was because on the subject of unhappy 
marriages Leslie Davenport had grown morbid, that he 
exalted Thersie^s act of resistance into an act of heroism. 
He did not even know who her rejected suitor was. But 
he felt confldent that she was not to be lightly wooed 
nor easily won, and he took himself severely to task for 


194 TO ^TinSTJm 

the satisfaction he was conscious of deriving from that 
thought. 

Theresa had been an inmate of her new home for 
nearly a month before any suspicion of her location 
entered the brain of this stanch friend of hers. 

He was on the eve of leaving the city for a business 
tour that might possibly detain him for a month. Sup- 
pose in his absence she might need help^ and he not be 
near to give it to her. 

This thought had no sooner flashed into his mind than 
it was rejected with a scornful anathema against his own 
conceited folly. 

‘^She will never come to me for help. She will never 
voluntarily let me know of her whereabouts. Such 
discoveries as I may make must be made altogether un- 
aided. I can fancy the defiant toss of that proud little 
head over an impertinent effort to pry into her proceed- 
ings. Ah, child, child! if you only knew how far 
your friend was removed from the sweet privileges of a 
wooer, you would have come to him fearlessly with your 
troubles, and given him the blessed consolation of ad- 
vising and comforting you. In the meantime,^'’ he said 
aloud, rising as he turned the key upon his methodi- 
cally completed morning^s work, ‘^the world moves on 
apace. The cars leave at four; my tickets are to be 
bought, and my duty-visit to my aunt paid, foi I should 
never gain forgiveness if I ventured within the precincts 
of New York City without that list of indispensables' 
which it is my doom to purchase for her every year.'’^ 

In compliance with a practice honored by many years^ 
observance, Mr. Davenport, on leaving his office, took 
his way immediately to the residence of his mother^s 
sister, the only relative he had living in the city — a lady 
whose company, however, he did not often seek, be- 
cause she was part and parcel of that gay and fashion- 
ionable world which had made wreck of him and all his 
happiness, and which he shunned with the ascetic hatred 
of a cowled monk. 

‘^‘^Ah! you bad nephew, was the lady’s airy greet- 
ing. have been sending you messages by the cart- 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


195 


load, of late, telling you that I wanted to see you very 
particularly, but 

‘‘ And here I am in compliance, said her nephew, 
kindly lending himself to her light mood, albeit it 
grated harshly on his previous train of thought. 
felt assured beforehand that you knew instinctively of 
m^ preparations for a trip to New York, and only stayed 
away long enough to insure you ample leisure for per- 
fecting that inevitable list.-’^ 

‘‘Inevitable list, indeed! Why one cannot move in 
our circle, Leslie, and yet not strive to make a decent 
appearance. 

“ Your circle, if you please aunt; I revolve in an en- 
tirely different orbit, and its boundaries lie within Caron- 
delet Street.'’^ 

“Yes, it is positively absurd how you close your life 
against every ray of happiness or brightness. Any other 
man would have had his freedom at any cost.^^ 

“At any cost! I do not recognize the present fast and 
loose ideas on the subject of marriage, aunt. ‘Until 
death do ns part,^ are words of such awful import, that 
the only marvel is how daringly they are uttered every 
day by wreckless or ignorant lips. ‘ Unto the bitter end ^ 
is so often their fitting sequel. But you know how ab- 
horrent a topic my own affairs always are. Moreover, I 
am pressed for time this morning. I leave at four, and 
it is now half-past one. You will please give me your 
commissions promptly, and let your supplementary re- 
marks be as concise as possible. I think I have learned 
your tastes and general views on the subject of millinery 
by heart, and may be trusted to purchase at discretion." 

“But, Leslie, I assure you I did not send for you this 
time' to talk about shopping exclusively. Have you 
heard from your mother very recently?" 

“Not within the last three weeks. You know she is 
but a poor correspondent at best, and now that her eyes 
are failing her so very rapidly, 1 am afraid she will have 
to procure assistance. I wish Leah knew how to write.” 

“ How about " 

“The sight of her handwriting would turn my 


19G 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


motlier^s tenderest words into gall and wormwood for 

You agree, then, that it is absolutely essential that 
sister should procure a companion his aunt asked, 
nervously twirling the tassels that bound her morning 
wrapper about her waist. 

1 am afraid that such a necessity is becoming immi- 
nent/^ Mr. Davenport admitted; “ but whom ’could we 
intrust with the secrets of that household, and where 
could I find that combination of discretion, refinement, 
patience and gentility, to say nothing of intelligence, 
that must go to the make-up of a suitable' companion 
for my fastidious and aristocratic mother?” 

What would you say if I told you that I had found 
such a combination?” said the lady, *a trifle less nerv- 
ously. 

I should say that I would like to interview your 
paragon; and if, upon mutual representations, a satis- 
factory arrangement could be made, I should like to 
secure her services for my mother.” 

You must take my word for it, Leslie, that she 
really does possess those qualifications, and then you 
must extend your forgiveness to me for having acted with- 
out your knowledge or consent; but, really, the whole 
affair was so peculiar that there was no time for consult- 
ing you, and your mother is already in possession of one 
of the loveliest companions in the world.” 

^^My dear aunt, you will please make your remarks 
plainer. I can scarcely believe you ventured to send a 
stranger to become an inmate of that house without my 
knowledge or consent.” 

^^Well, really, Leslie, when you take such a high 
stand as that, I do not consider that your consent was 
actually essential. To tell the whole truth, I never be- 
lieved I could get it. I have known that my sister 
needed some one with her for the past year or two, but 
such was your fear that your private a&irs would leak 
into publicity that you would not listen to it. There- 
fore, when, in the most accidental manner, the position 
was asked for by one of the most refined and dignified 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


197 


young girls I ever encountered, I took matters entirely 
into my own hands, and did what I thought was best 
for sister without any delay. 

And this young woman is now actually domesticated 
at the plantation 

She certainly is.” 

Mr. Davenport left his seat, and made the circuit of 
the room twice before he would trust himself to speak 
again. 

Then he paused in front of his aunt to say, mockingly: 
Seeing that I have some slight interest in this matter, 
will you please give me a full and connected account of the 
whole matter, letting your information concerning this 
stranger be as full as possible?” 

I will, most willingly, only asking you to be patient, 
and to submit quietly to the inevitable. It was, let me 
see, two weeks ago last Monday that I was coming home 
in the cars with old Mrs. Weston, who, you know, is as 
deaf as a post, but who, of course, wanted to hear all 
about sister, of whom she is as fond as ever. Well, I was 
telling her that your mother was failing in so many re- 
spects that she was really in need of a companion, and I 
wished to procure her one, if I could find a young lady 
combining refinement, intelligence, amiability and dis- 
cretion. I had noticed a slight figure, closely vailed, in 
one corner of the car, but had not cast a thought upon 
it until when I left the car, she left it and followed me 
to the gate, when she asked, without any preamble or con- 
fusion, if she had not heard me speak of wanting a com- 
panion for some relation, and applied for the situation 
then and there. She gave me her reasons for wanting 
to leave New Orleans under a pledge of secrecy, so I will 
not divulge them even to you. But I will stake every- 
thing I am worth that that girl was a lady born and 
bred.” 

^^Did she give you her name?” Mr. Davenport asked, 
eagerly. 

‘"Gaylord.” 

“False!” he muttered, grinding the word under his 
teeth. “Describe her eyes!” 


198 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


They were large, gray and true. But as she had 
evidently been weeping sorely she was not looking her 
prettiest/^ 

" Large, gray and true/ Truer than her lips. Poor 
child 

“ What is it?^^ his aunt asked, failing to catch the low, 
muttered conclusion. 

Nothing. At least, nothing remediable.'’^ 

He picked up his hat and began drawing on his gloves. 
"^Oh! you are not going! Why, I haveiLt had time 
to say one word to you about my shopping.'’^ 

‘‘Never mind your foppery, aunt. I shall not start 
for New York to-day.'’^ 

“ Why not? What shall you do, then?^^ 

“I shall go to the plantation.-’^ 

“ What for, Leslie? Not, I hope, to deprive my sister 
of the comfort I know she must derive from that sweet 
girl's company. It would be too cruel. 

“ Not to deprive my mother of any comfort, only to 
see for myself to whom it is you have opened the doors 
which I have so jealously guarded. My poor little 
Donna,'’'’ he added, as he gained the street. “ So that is 
your asylum!” 


TRUE TO lIERlSEIJi\ 


lO'J 


CHAPTER XXII. 

FIRST IMPRESSIOIs'S. 

W IIEX THERESA had parted from Isodora that 
morning, Avhen her striking likeness to the pic- 
ture in Mr. Havenport^s parlor had startled her, she shut 
herself into her room in confusion and dismay. 

What were the secrets of this household into which 
she had penetrated in such hot haste? Who were 
these people? Most especially, who was that beautiful, 
wild-looking creature who talked and acted in so irre- 
sponsible a fashion? She had felt, and still felt sure, 
that the lady whom she met in the cars was in a grade of 
society quite equal to her own; she had seen nothing 
since her arrival to jar upon her class prejudices in any 
one respect. 

In the months which had intervened since the hour 
when Emily had satisfied her curiosity about Leslie 
Davenport^s past up to the present, no more conversation 
had passed between them on the subject of his resur- 
rected romance. 

Once, incidentally, she had heard Frederic, in conver- 
sation with her sister, say (it was immediately after one 
of Mr. Davenport's rare evening calls) : 

^^If DavenporPs wife had lived he would have had a 
fireside of his own and children by this time to perpetu- 
ate his honorable character. It is a pity such a race 
should die out. He is a man absolutely without fear.'^ 
And she, Thersie, apparently idling over the music- 
books in search of a particular sheet, had drunk in 
their words greedily. She remembered Emily’s asking: 

^^Is it an assured thing that your friend’s wife is 
dead?” 

To which her brother-in-law had answered, derisively: 


200 


TRUE TO llERSELf. 


^^Undoubtedly it is. I saw a fellow wlio was with 
them ill Xice the summer after they left New Orleans, 
and he says the death-mark was on her then. Daven- 
port always was a sealed book when his private concerns 
were in question. It was characteristic of him at col- 
lege.'’^ 

And there the conversation had ended. 

Recalling it now, when the startling likeness of this 
pretty young woman brought back the pictured face that 
had done her such material damage in its fall, Theresa 
felt provoked at her own utter inability to disconnect 
the two. 

At all events, she thought, I was induced to seek 
this refuge from powerful motives. More powerful 
ones must still arise before I voluntarily forsake it. 
Mystery there may be, and undoubtedly is, under this 
strange roof; but purity and dignity sit enthroned on 
that noble old woman^s brow, and no harm can come to 
me so long as I am sheltered under her roof. When the 
master, who is vaguely hinted at by the different mem- 
bers of this dark circle, comes, all my foolish fancies 
will take their flight. Some commonplace Ion vivant, I 
judge, who cannot bring himself to endure the gloom of 
his home. Until then! — well, until then! — I had best 
be unpacking my trunk,” she said, springing up briskly, 
‘"and making this pretty room look more home-like by 
placing the few souvenirs I brought from my own 
deserted room.” 

A wise resolution, which was temporarily delayed by 
the urgent and unconquerable desire to have a good cry, 
which just here overcame the poor little exile com- 
pletely. 

Leah had informed her that morning, when initiating 
her, that they dined at two o’clock, and that no dress- 
ing-bell was rung. This was why she was so unreason- 
ably startled half an hour later when the loud clangor of 
a not silver-toned bell brought to mind the fact that it 
was dinner-time, and she was still in her wrapper. She 
had long since completed the simple task of arranging 
her Lares and Penates. 


TRUE TO UEBSELR 


201 


The deep-drawered bureau and the large g ass-doored 
wardrobe had given more than ample accommodations 
to the wearing contents of her only^trunk. On the 
marble slab of her dressing-case she had placed the long- 
stoppered toilet-bottles with their companion powder- 
case and the blue satin pin-cushion, with its faded pink 
bird, and the Japan glove-box, and the small pink shell 
chariot on gilt wheels that held her simple trinkets 
every night; and had greeted each article, as they 
emerged from their wrappings, like dear friends from 
whom she had been parted a century. 

On the mantel-shelf she had located the two framed 
pictures which had occupied similar positions in her 
room at home — one of Emily and Frederic, the other of 
Fanny and Everard — taken in that style so much 
alfected by newly-married couples, my lord seated in 
graceful ease, and my lady standing confidingly, resting 
one hand upon his shoulder, both looking out upon the 
world with a serene self-satisfaction, indicative of hav- 
ing won the good opinion of the world by consenting to 
wear the yoke of matrimony in their tender youth. 

Two or three panel pictures, on gilt easels, completed 
her mantel adornments; then she cast about her for a 
fitting pedestal for her treasure,^'’ as she caressingly der 
nominated a huge and shapeless bundle that she lifted 
from the bottom of the emptied trunk. 

Finally, deciding that a low marble shaft, meant 
apparently to hold potted plants, would just answer her 
purpose, she had thrown a light crimson cloth over the 
low, fiuted column, and cautiously removing a multitude 
of wraps, had brought to light and firmly planted on 
this pedestal a clock. 

""My palace of truth — my white dove of peace — you 
abide with me yet,'^ she had just said, standing off to 
see how Leslie Davenport's peace-offering appeared amid 
these unfamiliar scenes, when that inexorable bell re- 
minded her of the lateness of the hour. 

"" The mistress loves punctuality." Leah had said to 
her, in a voice of solemn warning. 

Thersie was entirely too dainty in her personal habits 


202 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


to appear before the assembled family, at her first 
dinner, in a wrapper, in consequence of which she made 
her appearance ten minutes late in the dining-room, and 
was quite aware that she was running the gauntlet of 
criticism from more than one pair of eyes, as she ad- 
vanced and took possession of the one vacant chair, 
addressing a simple apology to Mrs. Costa, who was en- 
throned at the head of the table with the dignified re- 
pose of a sovereign. 

You must pardon me to-day, dear Mrs. Costa, I am 
not habitually unpunctual, but I have not had time yet 
to wind up m lock.^-’ 

Clock iue monosyllable was repeated in a vaguely 
questioning voice, toward which Thersie turned cour- 
teously, as Mrs, Costa presented her byname to ‘^My 
nephew, Charles. 

Thersie smiled at her mistress^ novel way of making 
introductions, leaving her to formulate her own style of 
address, and was about to ask for a more satisfactory 
presentation, when Isodora added, in her most exasper- 
atingiy flippant voice: 

^"As he is not everybody’s nephew, perhaps Miss Gay- 
lord would like some additional information. His 
name is Westbrook, Miss Gaylord,” she concluded, wav- 
ing a fork in the direction of the young man, who 
acknowledged the introduction by repeating, with the 
monotony of an echo: 

Gaylord!” 

Queer,” said Isodora, tapping her own forehead, 
meaningly, as Thersie dropped into her chair in some 
confusion, but with a pitiful glance at the handsome, 
stalwart man, whose body seemed to increase but the 
feeble wreck of his mind. 

Eegarding it as among her newly-assumed duties to 
act as if this strange family circle was in every particu- 
lar just what it should be, Thersie essayed a light con- 
versational tone, which she found met with but little 
encouragement. 

Mrs. Costa apparently regarded this noonday meal as 
a solemn formula to be gotten through with, with as 


i'RUE TO HERSELF. 


203 


little sacrifice of dignity as possible. Isodora recognized 
no responsibilities in life but that of extracting as much 
personal comfort out of it as possible. In pursuance of 
which resolve, she ate her dinner in a sulky silence, 
only broken once in a while to favor Thersie with some 
very direct compliments on her general appearance, or 
some very indirect cuts at the other members of the 
family. As for Charles Westbrook, Thersie soon learned 
that he existed merely upon the sufferance of others, 
and she accorded him her gentlest meed of pity. 

^^This dress fits you exactly, Isodora said, laying 
down her knife and fork, while she deliberately took in 
every curve and fiounce of Thersie^s simple black silk. 

Madam Marguerite does understand her business,” 
Thersie answered, lightly. 

‘^Business!” Charles Westbrook echoed, fixing his 
large, solemn eyes wistfully on her face. 

Isodora asked, enviously: ^‘Does Marguerite make 
your dresses?” 

^‘She did.” 

^‘1 am just dying to know what brought you ” 

Isodora!” 

She turned her defiant eyes toward her mother-in-law. 

It is my wish that Miss Gaylord shall not bQ annoyed 
by any impertinent curiosity on your part. I think I 
know very well what you are ^ dying to know.^ I regard 
it a most fortunate accident that has thrown Miss Gay- 
lord in my way.” 

Scat!” Isodora sputtered between her teeth, in a low 
undertone; while Charles gravely repeated, My way.” 

“Is it not odious?” she asked of Theresa, in a sub- 
dued voice. 

“ What?” 

“ The having to feed in company with a lunatic.” 

“He seems so perfectly gentlemanly and courteous 
that one would scarcely think to apply such a harsh 
term.” 

“You are fond of billiards, are you not, Mr. West- 
brook?” she asked, suddenly turning upon him with her 
most respectful bearing. 


204 


TRUE TO BEESELP. 


Billiards. H^m! Billiards. 

^‘^Aiid play them very regularly, no doubt she 
added. 

“No doubt/^ he said, nodding, with a pleased look at 
having so much attention shown him from a creature 
whose physical beauty evidently appealed strongly to his 
dulled senses. 

“You have made a conquest/'’ said Isodora, with a 
sneer. “ That is the most intelligent look I have seen 
in his eyes for some time.” 

“You have cast a ray of sunshine into a darkened 
life,” said Mrs. Oosta, bending upon Thersie her gentlest 
glance. “ My unfortunate nephew is one of the victims 
of the War. My son is so fond of him — they grew up 
together — that he has never been willing for him to be 
sent to an asylum. He is perfectly harmless.” 

“Harmless,” Charles echoed, with such pathos in his 
voice that it was hard to imagine the words were mean- 
ingless to him. 

“Bulletin his head somewhere,” Isodora explained, 
heartlessly. 

“I am sure such a sentiment is very creditable to your 
son, madam,” Theresa said, wishing that, by a continu- 
ance of the branch of the subject, she might elicit this 
gentleman’s name. 

There was one way she could get at it directly, and 
that was by questioning the servants. This, however, 
she could not bring herself to do. 

“Madam’s son never does anything discreditable P 
Isodoi’a interposes, snappishly. “ He is” one of the few 
mortals without flaw whom Deity has permitted to 
exist as reminders of what mankind was before the 
fall.” 

Her voice and face were full of venomous spite as she 
thus delivered herself, and Thersie glanced in dismay 
toward Mrs. Oosta to note the effect of this outburst. 

It seemed to be absolutely without any effect. Mrs. 
Costa’s white hands were folded in patrician quietness 
over her napkin-ring, while her eyes followed Andrew’s 
crumb-brush and tray as he cleared the cloth for the 
desert. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


205 


If she had heard, she evidently did not heed. 

What with the reserved dignity of the mistress, the 
dangerous confidences of the madam, and the tragic 
iterations of Charles Westbrook, Thersie found her first 
dinner in her new home anything but a convivial affair, 
and she was heartily rejoiced when Mrs. Costa rose and 
said: 

^^Miss Gaylord, at four precisely we will drive.” 

Drive!” Charles repeated, nodding graciously at 
their guest. 

^^On which occasion,” Isodora added, ^^we will have 
an opportunity of showing you how completely and 
voluntarily you have put yourself outside the pale of 
civilization. Or was it voluntarily?” 

^Mf you mean was my coming here voluntarily, I can 
answer truthfully ^Yes.'’” 

Yes!” says Charles, in his most positive manner. 

Then all I have to say is ” 

Leah! your mistress needs your attention!” 

As this command came imperiously from Mrs. Costa 
to Leah, Theresa observed with surprise that this grave 
maid-servant moved to Isodora^s side, possessed herself 
of her fan and handkerchief, which were lying on the 
table, and gravely, but respectfully, indicated to her that 
she was ready to accompany her. 

That” — Isodora rose, but continued defiantly — you 
never made a huger mistake in your life. Scat! Come, 
Leah ; iCs a wonder I donT hate you worse than I do. 
Poor fool and tool! My keeper. Miss Gaylord, permit 
me. I^m another one of the harmless. By-by, until the 
menagerie is collected for feeding purposes again.” ^ 
Again!” sighed Charles, rising in imitation of the 
motions of those about him, and following his aunt 
from the room. 

A drive in the open carriage with Mrs. Costa through 
the pure country air, through long vistas of sugar-cane 
and boundless 'fields of cotton, was one of the most 
pleasant features of Thersie's first day in exile. 

And when that evening after tea, her duties for the 
day concluded, she opened the long-neglected piano and 


^06 


TRUE TO BERSELE. 


solaced herself with its sweet tunes, she did not believe 
that she had done so badly, after all, in selecting this 
place for her refuge. 

If only,^^ she said, as she laid herself down that 
night, busily ruminating over every little incident of 
the day — ''if only I find that I have been harboring a 
wild fancy regarding the — master!” 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


207 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE MASTER AT HOME. 

A daptability is a gift of such priceless value, 
that it is matter of wonderment how slight a 
stress one lays upon its possession. The power of ac- 
commodating oneself to one^s surroundings, in the way 
least calculated to produce those galling sensations that 
are the outcome of inevitable friction, is a powei most 
devoutly to be wished for. That mental equipoise, 
which enables one at a glance to discover the antagon- 
isms of a novel situation, and to smooth them over with 
easy grace, is as rare as it is admirable. 

All unknown to herself, Theresa Gordon possessed 
this faculty of adaptation to a marked degree, and it 
stood her in good stead in the peculiar position she 
found herself occupying in Mrs. Oosta^s household. 

She had not been a member of this incongruous 
family circle three weeks before she had discovered that 
it would require very delicate steering on her part to 
preserve the safe channel of impartiality in her dealings 
with the mistress of the house and her irresponsible 
daughter-in-law. For to Thersie, with her well-balanced 
brain and common-sense way of looking at things, Iso- 
dora, over whom Leah kept grave but perpetual guard, 
was, with her reckless flippancy and passionate out- 
breaks, a more dangerous member of society than was 
Charles Westbrook in his witless helplessness. 

To propitiate Mrs. Costa's goodwill without servility, 
to let her see at the outset that she did not propose to 
be drawn into any display of partisanship for or against 
either party, to observe her own cheerful equilibrium 
despite the discordance of the social elements surround- 
ing her, taxed the wisdom and the patience of the lonely 
little exile. 


208 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Isodora she regarded in the light of a beautiful but 
dangerous animal — the leopardess — in the collection of 
incongruities herself had called a menagerie. One could 
not reason with her. She could be soothed or cajoled 
into measures, or she could be lashed into sudden and 
violent opposition that swept down everything before it 
with the illogical fury of a hurricane. 

It is by no manner of means the strongest characters 
that succeed best in having their own way in their deal- 
ings with their fellow-men. The weak ones of the earth 
are generously accorded a supremacy most often. This 
is why Thersie, while theoretically arrogating to herself 
an immense superiority over this tropical beauty in the 
matter of mind and judgment, found herself practically 
yielding to her childish sway, thankful to preserve an 
insecure truce with her on any terms. 

Under the protecting aegis of her divine pity, she 
promptly drew Charles Westbrook in his wrecked man- 
hood, and applied herself sedulously to the task of dis- 
covering what rays of mental light were strong enough 
to penetrate the darkness into which his soul was plunged. 

His favorite game of ten-pins seemed to appeal to an 
undimmed spot in his memory, and therefore Thersie 
made this a bond of communication between them, which 
resulted in a material brightening of the days — to one of 
them at least. 

However much she might have disliked to have drawn 
conclusions concerning the m3^steries which evidently 
pervaded the atmosphere about her, it was unavoidable 
that she should do so. In consequence of which she 
fcund herself gradually accumulating a large amount of 
disconnected information, fragmentary facts and irrele- 
vant bits of knowledge, from which, liad she so chosen, 
she could have constructed a monstrous whole, as men 
reconstruct some extinct monster from its disconnected 
bones and membra. 

For instance, she discovered that, although the country 
around was inhabited by some dozen or more planters’ 
families, all of them, presumably, in Mrs. Costa’s own 
walk of life, no one ever entered the doors of Elmwood 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


m 

(as this place Was called from its most abundant trees). 
No carriage-wheels but Mrs. Costae’s own ever ground 
the gravel on the long, circular drive. No saddle-horse 
but the doctor^s was ever hitched to the rack about which 
the grass grew thick. 

She discovered also that, for some reason or other, 
Isodora was kept under strict espionage. She was never 
left entirely alone. Leah was her shadow. Dark, inex- 
orable, constant in attendance. She was virtually a 
prisoner. 

Beyond Mrs. Costa^s frigid introduction of her, as 

my daughter-in-law,^^ on the first evening of Thersie^s 
arrival, she had never heard the faintest clew given by 
which she could determine whether this petulant beauty 
were wife or widow. 

There was something about these people that dis- 
couraged inquisitiveness, and, notwithstanding the usu- 
ally reckless tenor of Isodora^’s conversation, she had 
never hinted at the existence of a living husband or a 
^^dear departed.” 

It had not taken Thersie long to systematize her 
own duties and recreations so that every waking hour 
was well disposed of, and her nights yielded her the well- 
earned and dreamless sleep of a young and healthy 
nature. 

She only regarded this exile from home as a temporary 
necessity. 

Emily will know now,” she reasoned within herself, 
'^that I am not to be forced into that odious marriage. 
He, that insufferable Josiah Phillips, will weary of pur- 
suit, and in a few months I can return to a home purged 
of that element of discord.” 

A long walk before breakfast every morning fortified 
her for that meal, which she invariably took in solitary 
state (early hours not being considered advisable for the 
less healthy minds and bodies of the household). 

From breakfast until ten she availed herself of the 
privileges of Mrs. Costa’s library, an unusually fine one 
for so isolated a spot. 

She was in the serene enjoyment of this, her White 


210 


TBTJE TO HEBSELF. 


House^ as she called it, one morning, toward the close 
of her first month in exile, when Isodora appeared in the 
doorway, and sent her fine high voice mockingly toward 
the corner of the sofa where Thersie was curled up in 
abstracted enjoyment of a rare edition of Beranger’s 
poems, quaintly illustrated. 

You pretend to be enjoying yourself hugely/^ she 
said, with contemptuous incredulity. 

I am enjoying myself hugel}^'’'’ Thersie answered, 
with the indulgent smile she always accorded this adult 
infant. My enjoyment has but one alloy this morn- 
ing, and that is caused by finding this rare book shock- 
ingly mutilated. Almost a dozen pages have been torn 
from the first part.^’ 

[ did that!’^ Isodora said, with cool indifference, 
advancing and taking possession of the arm of the sofa, 
where she sat swinging one little slippered foot, and 
staring defiance into Theresa^s surprised face. 

You did it?^^ Thersie said, looking at her in amaze- 
ment. 

^^Yes. And you will find plenty more in the same 
condition.'’^ 

^^But what did you do it for?^^ 

To tear out a name — a name that the mere sight of 
maddens me. A name it would choke me to mention — 
a name I hate!’^ Isodora said, showing her teeth 
viciously. 

Whose name?^^ Theresa asked, entirely involun- 
tarily. 

^'My mother-in-law^s son^s name — the 'master’s!'' 

Laying bitter emphasis on this finale to her circum- 
locutory piece of information, Isodora glided from the 
sofa and out of the room, white and tremulous with 
rage. 

^incomprehensible!" Theresa said, gazing wonder- 
ingly at the spot where she had sat; then, as this inter- 
ruption had effectually marred her interest in her book 
for that occasion, she proceeded to verify that strange 
assertion that plenty more " would be found in the 
same condition. 


TRUE TO HER8ELE. 


211 


Going up to the long bookcase on the other side of the 
room, she took down book after book in the same 
mutilated condition. 

What an act of vandalism!” she said, aloud. What 
on earth can this man have done to incur such implac- 
able animosity? What a tyrant he must be!” 

Perhaps. And yet there may be extenuating cir- 
cumstances, which it would be well for Miss Gaylord to 
hear before indulging in such sweeping condemnation.” 

She had wheeled suddenly about at the word ‘ per- 
haps,” knowing full well who had uttered it. 

There was no mistaking that full, quiet, evenly- 
balanced voice. 

She uttered no explanation of surprise or dismay; 
but, with her hands folded tightly about the last book 
she had taken down, she stood in an attitude of per- 
fect and motionless grace, with her large, earnest eyes 
fixed in mute distress on Leslie DavenporPs handsome 
face! 

His answering look was one of pity rather than of 
anger. 

You think I did it on purpose?” Thersie asserted, 
nervously anxious to break this spell of silence and force 
some expression of opinion from him. 

^^Did what on purpose?” 

He advanced and offered his hand in greeting. It 
was evident he was not going to take the initiative in 
any explanation. 

Invaded — your — home,” she answered in a tremu- 
lous voice. 

Invaded — my — home! Poor little donna, how un- 
happily you select your words this morning! I have not 
been put to the trouble of forming any idle conjectures 
on the subject. But I cannot let you stand there in my 
home, as you incorrectly called this house of refuge. 
Child, did you mean to mock me by that word home? 
Come, I suspect you were sitting just here.” 

He took her handkerchief and garden-ha"- from the 
sofa as he spoke, and seated himself where they had 
lain. 


TBUE TO EERSELF. 


m 


want you to sit here again while I, the mastef, 
hold a necessary conversation with his mother^s compan- 
ion, Miss Gaylord/^ 

‘‘That was not falsehood/^ Theresa said, walking 
obediently back to the sofa and seating herself by his 
side. “ I see it in your eyes that you are condemning 
me. Gaylord is really and truly my name — my own 
middle name. I did not know where I was coming to, 
and' I had to go somewhere. You would not despise me 
if you knew.^^ 

“I do know, he said, smiling gravely down upon 
her. 

“ What a rash fashion you have of settling affairs for 
yourself and every one else! I know why you left your 
sister^’s house. Miss — Gaylord, for she did me the honor 
to think you had probably come to me for aid and ad- 
vice.'’^ 

A burning flush spread rapidly over Thersie^s face, 
and her long lashes rested on her cheeks as she dropped 
her eyes in sore confusion. 

“ Child, why did you not? I could have been 

Theresa bravely threw off her confusion and raised 
her eyes to his. 

“ Mr. Davenport, will you let me make an explanation 
instead of listening to one. I think I can make you 
understand that I came here ignorantly, and that I am 
not sorry — that is, I will not be — if only you will let me 
stay. You say you know why I left my home. I know 
that the lady whom I encountered in the car that day 
would not send me to a place not fitted for my residence 
as a young and unsheltered girl. I think I can be com- 
paratively happy in your mother’s employ, since my own 
home has become the abode of discord. As for Iso- 
dora ” 

“Mrs. Davenport, if you please,” he corrected her, 
gravely. 

Theresa stopped, raised her eyes to his with holy pity 
in them, and then went bravely on: 

“As for your wife, I think she and I will be good 
friends — if you will let me try to be. The privacy of 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


213 


your home has been violated, but can you not trust 
me?” 

She laid her hand in his, and he, for all answer, held 
it for a second in a firm, close grasp. 

“As for the privacy of my home. Miss Gaylord — I 
presume, by the way, it is your pleasure to be so called?” 

“ If you please.” 

“It was becoming a matter of dire necessity that my 
mother should have some one with her. I regard it as 
fortunate that my indiscreet aunt has not sent some 
prying intermeddler here long ago, without my knowl- 
edge or consent.” 

“How did you know she had sent me?” Thersie asked 
in natural curiosity, looking sideways at him. 

“Because she described her treasure trove as having 
^eyes large, tender and true.^” 

Which explanation was the immediate occasion of 
Thersie^s eyes being suddenly veiled again. 

^‘^My mother tells me that you are a sunbeam in the 
old house.” 

“ You have seen your mother, then? That was good 
of her to speak so kindly of me to the master.” 

“Yes, I rode out last night from the landing, and 
went, according to my old childish habit, straight to my 
mother^s room.” 

“ They were not expecting you,” she affirmed, rather 
than asked. 

“No; my custom is to pay my visits here quarterly. 
I am not due for a month yet. But, after hearing of 
your flight, and connecting it with my aunt^s informa- 
tion, I considered it my paramount duty to come here 
immediately.” 

“And I know your coming gladdened your mother^s 
heart.” 

“Yes, she loves me. I am not entirely bereaved.” 

If heart-beats were audible, Thersie's secret would 
have been told. The temptation to play the comforter 
was strong within her. 

“And she — does she know? She was in here just a 
while ago.” 


214 


TRUE TO EER8ELE. 


wife? No, she does not know yet. I shall pay 
hei’ a visit presently. Do you conceive she is pining for 
my presence 

But Thersie was mute. 

^^How does the piano go?” he asked, abruptly rising 
from the sofa and throwing the lid up. 

It is my solace and delight!” she answered eagerly ._ 

‘^^Then it must be kept in perfect repair. It has been 
of very little more service than a dry-goods box before 
your coming.” 

^^Does not Mrs. Davenport plav?"^ 

She was taught, and once made a very effective lure 
of her talents in that line,” he answered bitterly. 

Then he left the instrument, whose octaves he had 
been trying with a firm, strong touch, and stood looking 
down upon Theresa. 

This evening. Miss Gordon — I do not feel equal to 
the task at this moment — I shall lift a veil which has 
hung motionless for very many years. It is not my wish 
nor my intention that you shall remain here without a 
full and complete knowledge of all it behooves you to 
know.” 

It behooves me to know noftiing more than I know 
at present. You are unhappy. I have once — long ago — 
heard something of your past life. You are not re- 
sponsible for the woes that have been crowded into it. I 
need a home! You will not send me away! You will 
let me stay to love your mother and ” 

And what? You need not be afraid to finish your 
sentence, Donna Quixote.” 

‘^And help your wife, I was going to say, only it 
sounded so presumptuous.” 

^^Presumptuous! No, Heaven knows we are both in 
need of help!” 

He walked restlessly around the room and paused in 
front of the book-shelves. 

‘^Do you find much comfort there?” he asked, tapping 
the glass door with his amber cigar-holder. 

Indeed, I do. Ah! you can scarcely conceive of the 
blessed sense of repose and security that comes over mo 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


215 


when I enter here and know that 1 am free from perse- 
cution — free to lose myself and all my petty woes in the 
grandly-told stories of other days and other climes; no 
one to say a harsh wmrd to me; no one to try to pervert 
my inborn sense of womanly purity and dignity by en- 
deavoring to barter them. Ah! you will not send me 
awayP 

She stood up before him and held out both hands. 

'^If to-morrow morning you can come to me, child, 
and say truthfully, ^ It is my preference to stay^ — if you 
shall have concluded that it is better to abide in this 
house of gloom and mourning than to seek a brighter 
place of retreat — why, far be it from me to deprive this 
doomed spot of the blessing of your presence.^" 

He drew his watch from his pocket. 

My mother tells me that you come to her at ten."” 

He turned his face toward her with a grave, kind 
smile. It was five minutes past, and Thersie felt herself 
dismissed. 


216 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE VEIL UPLIFTED. 

W HEN THERSIE entered Mrs. Costa^s room, a 
few moments later, prepared to go tlirougli with 
their usual morning’s routine of reading, writing let- 
ters, and consulting over the combination of certain 
shades of silk scraps which the old lady was transform- 
ing into a silk quilt — a sort of Penelope’s web, which no 
one ever expected to see arrive at completion — she found 
her patroness absolutely transfigured. 

Her keen, dark eyes, which had always been Thersie’s 
special admiration, were ablaze with an excitement and 
joyousness that fairly illumined her countenance. 

Under ordinary circumstances, her face wore a rather 
severe expression than otherwise. 

He has come!” she said, with a happy smile. 

“ I have seen him,” Thersie answered, quietly. 

And in that one little personal pronoun both women 
recognized their own ideal representative of the best 
part of mankind. 

Why did you not tell me that you knew my son?” 
Mrs. Costa asked, taking up her little basket of silk 
scraps mechanically. 

The delicate, blue-veined hand that hovered aimlessly 
over the gay silken scraps was tremulous with nervous 
excitement. 

Why did you not tell me your son’s name, so that I 
could have known whether I knew him or not. I have 
heard the ^master,’ and ^ my son,’ and ^Dav’ — as Mr. 
Westbrook calls him — spoken of constantly, out of 
which I had manufactured Mr. Dav Costa as a patro- 
nymic for the mysterious master whose coming seems to 


TBUB To BEBSELT', 21 '? 

have brought such joy. But Mr. Leslie Davenport’s 
name has never escaped your lips.” 

^^True. How could you guess? Yes, his coming has 
brought great joy and peace to me,” Mrs. Costa said, 

but not to all the household. I will not forestall any 
confidence my son may see fit to repose in you, my dear 
Miss Gaylord, for he has already declared his intention 
to speak very plainly to you; but I have this to say ” — 
and she said it with her hand resting on Thersie’s 
shoulder with maternal kindness — ^Gf, after Leslie has 
talked with you, you can make up your mind to abide 
with me, do not leave me, dear, I should miss you. 
You have growm to be such a comfort to me in this 
short while.” 

What can Mr. Davenport have to tell me, dear 
madam, that could drive me from the safe refuge of 
this roof?” 

The shadow of sin and shame broods over it, child.” 

^^ISTot yours,” Thersie said, boldly. 

“^Not mine. No, not mine, though — woe fs me! — 
the offense came by me.” 

^^Nor his.” 

Nor his, poor boy! His has been the bitter portion 
to drain the cup filled by another’s hand.” 

Dear lady, then I have but this to say — ^let me stay 
and help lighten your burden and his. I am not needed 
elsewhere — not wanted anywhere. I regard it as a for- 
tunate chance that I did not know that this was Mr. 
Davenport’s house. I should never have entered it vol- 
untarily. But, finding myself here by some strange 
chance, with your and his consent, I shall remain.” 

‘^God bless you, my child — for Leslie and myself!” 

Then the two women fell to work with a fierce as- 
sumption of interest, and into each gay little octagon 
that their united tastes wove into that quilt, the mother 
contrived to weave some bright and entertaining memory 
of the son whose coming had loosened the floodgates of 
her emotions. 

It was with a very natural degree of curiosity that 
Theresa awaited the coming of dinner-time. Then for 


^18 


TlWE TO liETlSBLF. 


tlie first time she should see Leslie Davenport and his 
strange wife together. She had so long accustomed her- 
self to think of him as a free man, that it was no easy 
task to bring her mind to consider him in bondage. A 
bondage borne so bravely, so quietly, with such patient 
endurance, that but few knew how his chains had cor- 
roded his flesh and marred every possibility of his life. 

Did he love her? And did she love him? These 
were the two questions which Tliersie revolved cease- 
lessly in her mind. Always arriving at a negative con- 
clusion, because, reasoned Donna Quixote, with the 
heart-logic of all womankind, if they loved each other, 
nothing — absolutely nothing — would be incurably wrong. 

How would Isodora — gay, reckless, defiant, and yet so 
beautiful that forgiveness followed promptly upon the 
heels of her many offenses — comport herself in the 
presence or this self-possessed, quiet man, who, it was 
evident, she had managed to outrage beyond the limits 
of endurance or the possibility of forgiveness? Would 
she defy him as she defied every other member of the 
household ? She could scarcely fancy Leslie Davenport 
as the target for his wife^s airy insolence. 

Revolving these doubts and fancies in her own nlind 
as she was dressing for dinner, she was startled by seeing 
the face of the woman who was occupying such a large 
portion of her thoughts at that moment, peering over 
her shoulder into the glass before which she was stand- 
ing, fastening a crimson rose into the black-lace tie at 
her throat. 

You have a startlingly sudden and noiseless way of 
making your appearance,'’^ she said, turning toward Iso- 
dora with a forced smile. 

You desire to look unusually handsome to-day, 
was the answer, ^^and you have succeeded. 

Why should I?^^ Thersie asked, angry to feel her- 
self growing red under this impertinence. 

^'Because the master has come, said Isodora, coolly 
stepping into the place vacated by Thersie, in front of 
the glass, and beginning to pick at the fringe of short 
black locks over her low, white forehead. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


219 


Because your husband has come/^ 

My husband ! Bah ! my jailer, my tyrant, my keeper, 
my curse ! And you ! he will fill your ears with horrible 
lies about me. He will make you hate me. I wanted 
one person to care for me, but he will not let them. He 
hates me. I wish he would kill me and be done with it. 
It would be true kindness. Dear me! what is this? !N ot 
millefleur, nor jockey club.'’^ 

With airy transition from tragedy to comedy, Mrs. 
Davenport placed her handkerchief over the scent-bottle 
she had taken from the toilet-table, and saturated it. 
She had an Oriental passion for strong perfume. 

^^Do you see that gray horse she suddenly asked, 
pointing through the open window to the horse-rack, 
about which the grass had crowded and the weeds en- 
croached. 

^^Yes! What of it 

AVell, that is his horse. He is odiously methodical. 
Every day now until he takes his departure (which. 
Heaven send, may be before may days), that horse will 
be hitched to that peg at a certain hour of every morning, 
and monsieur, the master, will walk gravely out and 
mount it, and ride over the same cotton rows, and say the 
same things to the plowman, and ride home at the same 
slow gait, and dismount with the face of a Sphinx, and 
shut himself up in the library until that old dinner-bell 
rings, whence he will emerge and eat his dinner as if it 
were among his hardest routine duties, and after dinner 
dance attendance on madam, the mistress, until four 
o'clock, when he will do me the honor of driving me out 
in the phaeton to give his captive an airing. Bah ! that 
is what we call living here. Do you not enjoy the pros- 
pect of making his acquaintance?" 

have had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Davenport 
in Hew Orleans," Thersie said. 

An ansv/er which she could not imagine was calculated 
to excite the sudden wrath of this illy-regulated, tem- 
pestuous creature. 

^^Then he sent you here! Sent you here as a spy! 
You are his employee! I might have known there was a 


220 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


motive in admitting a stranger to this den of hor- 
rors/" 

You mistake and you insult me, Mrs. Davenport! I 
did not know until this morning that the master, whose 
name, purposely or accidentally, has never been men- 
tioned in my presence, was Mr. Davenport, a great friend 
of my broth er-in-law. If you please, we will go to dinner. "" 

She moved with dignity toward the door, slowly fol- 
lowed by Isodora. 

Since the morning when Thersie had had occasion to be- 
lieve that her trunks had been ransacked in her absence, 
she had always carried the key of her room with her. 

This was the first time Isodora had chanced to enter 
the apartment since she had added her own small posses- 
sions to the furniture of the room. 

She now stood with idly-folded hands, viewing the 
artistic arrangement of the room, unmindful of the fact 
that the bell had rung and that Thersie was standing 
politely by the door, waiting for her exit. 

At last her eye fell upon Thersie"s precious clock. 
With the swift, gliding grace of a serpent, she swept 
across the room toward the little pedestal upon which it 
stood. For a moment, with clasped hands, she stood 
in front of the clock — her eyes dilating and her delicate 
nostrils quivering with angry excitement. 

Where did you get that?"" she asked, turning her 
flashing eyes on Theresa. 

It was given to me!"" 

'^By whom?"" 

Without recognizing your right to inquire, Mrs. 
Davenport, I will say that Mr. Davenport gave it to 
me."" 

^^^It is mine!"" Isodora said, stamping her small foot 
furiously on the rug in front of the pedestal. 

“ Then I shall restore it with pleasure. Leah shall 
remove it to your apartments immediately after dinner."" 

With a reckless laugh, Isodora extended one white 
arm and swept the clock from its pedestal to the floor^ 
where it fell shattered and ruined for ever. 

Thanks/" she said. 


TRUE TO HERSELF 


221 


Griving Thersie a mocking courtesy, she swept her 
into the hallway. 

Restore it now if you cm,” she added, maliciously. 

Giving one backward glance at the wreck of her cher- 
ished little time-piece, Thersie followed in the wake of 
the beautiful fury, wishing she might go back into her 
room and cry over her clock rather than obey the hum- 
drum summons to dinner. 

Isodora was just settling herself, with many a silken 
rustle, into a chair to the right of her husband, when 
Thersie entered. 

Can you forgive me?^^ Mrs. Davenport asked, look- 
ing at her with innocent pleading in her eyes. 

Thersie was so taken aback at this unexpected look 
and question that she had no reply ready. 

What offense is it that Miss Gaylord is called upon 
to forgive so early in her acquaintance with you?^^ Mr. 
Davenport asked, coldly, glancing from the pleading 
eyes of his wife to Thersie^'s flushed face, with rather 
anxious inquiry in his looks. 

Nothing, Thersie said, in hot haste. am 
sorry Mrs. Davenport thought it worth mentioning. 

Which is very sweet of you. Miss Gaylord, said 
Isodora. 

Lifting her eyes calmly to her husband^s face, she 
explained: 

‘^^Such a stupid piece of awkwardness on my part! 
Miss Gaylord had a beautiful little clock in her room, 
and I was standing near it just before we came in to 
dinner, admiring it, and — well, you know, one can never 
tell how those things happen. I raised my arm suddenly 
to fix my hair, and knocked it off, and I am afraid I have 
ruined it. Did you stop to examine it before you came 
in, kliss Gaylord 

Theresa was afraid to look at her. 

In pity for Leslie Davenport, she did not care to expose 
this audacious falsehood by word or look. 

^‘^Had your clock any associations. Miss Gaylord he 
asked, resolved that she should look at him. 

^"Yes. It was a peace-offering. I prized it very 
much/^ 


222 


TBUE TO HERSELF. 


She raised her brave, true eyes to his face. He thought 
he detected reproach in them for him. 

It was the little clock I purchased in Geneva, mother, 
the master said, explanatorily. ^^Miss Gaylord once 
found herself in my parlors on an errand of charity to 
my gardener^s family, and as she was so good as to admire 
that little trifle, I prevailed upon her to accept it as a 
Christmas greeting. I am afraid we will not be able to 
duplicate it easily.-’^ 

Ah! do not make it of so much importance, Thersie 
said, piteously. I am sure Mrs. Davenport is the great- 
est sufferer of all.^^ 

^^Of all?^'’ said Charles> looking inquiringly round the 
circle. 

Thersie thanked her witless ally inwardly for this 
meaningless interruption. 

‘'^We have not had a game of nine-pins for two whole 
days, Mr. Westbrook!'’'' she said, turning eagerly toward 
him for escape. 

AVhole days!” said Charles, brightening at the word 
nine-pins. 

We must play this afternoon,” she said. 

Yes! h^m! yes, afternoon!” 

You have been very good to him, my mother tells 
me, and I thank you for it. His is a piteous case. Poor 
Charlie !” 

There was a world of w^eariness in Leslie Davenport's 
voice as he spoke, looking at his unfortunate cousin with 
pitying tenderness in his eyes, that Thersie felt a wild 
inclination to let the tear she had been choking back for 
an hour come. 

Oh, what a burden he had to bear! And who was 
helping him? How desolately alone he -walked, while he 
shielded and protected every member of that helpless 
household dependent upon him for guidance ! Who ever 
cast one ray of cheer or consolation into his life? Who 
gave him that sense of sympathetic tenderness so dear to 
the sternest heart that beats? 

Could Leslie Davenport have read the heart of the girl 


^TEUE TO BEESELE. 


m 


wlio sat^ at his left, tranquilly bearing her part in the 
rather difficult task of maintaining a connected thread of 
discourse in that illy-assorted circle, perhaps he would 
have been the first to utter with worldly wisdom the little 
word Be ware 

She excused herself from driving with Mr. Davenport 
and his mother that afternoon, and avoided every member 
of the household until compelled to emerge by Leaffis 
appearance with the lamps and her delivery of a message: 

‘‘The master wishes to speak with Miss Gaylord in 
the library. 

Tremulously but promptly Theresa obeyed the sum- 
mons. 

The library at Elmwood was a cosy rather than a 
handsome apartment. Lined with well-filled book- 
shelves, containing the piano and a cabinet organ, a 
center-table, supplied with writing materials, and a few 
easy chairs of independent size and shape, 'it was 
Thersie^s especial care and delight. The vases on the 
mantel-shelves, and the low, shallow dish on the table, 
were filled with flowers of her own gathering every 
morning. 

As she entered this room now, Mr. Davenport was 
standing by the center-table, abruptly plucking some 
dead leaves from among the flowers in the basin. The 
lamp on the table shone full into his face. It looked 
wan and tired. The gloom in his eyes touched the 
quick sympathies of the tender-hearted girl, who came 
straight to his side, saying, fearlessly: 

“ You look tired to-night. You have declared your 
intention of reposing some j3onfidence in me, which I 
know it will cost you an effort to make. Let me decide 
for myself, will you not? I do not ask you to bare your 
wounds for my inspection. A simple ‘Yes ^ or ‘No,^ in 
answer to one question from me, will decide whether I 
shall stay or go. Mr. Davenport, look at me, please. 
Is it your pleasure that I shall go? Your mother's need 
for some one is not an imaginary need. If I leave her, 
some one else will have to take my place. Would you 
prefer a stranger?" 


m 


Tam TO bebselT'. 


No, no, to both questions, he answered, leaving 
the flowers and resuming his restless pacing of the room, 
which Thersie^s entrance had interrupted for a moment. 

Sit down. Miss Gordon. I was quite prepared for 
just such a display of generosity on your part as you 
have made. It is creditable to your heart. To accept 
your offer, and to permit you to remain here witliout a 
full knowledge of the true condition of affairs, would be 
highly discreditable to me. You are right, it does cost 
me an effort to lift the veil. But then, little donna, 
after all, is not life one long succession of effort and 
failure 

Surely not. It may seem so at times. But only to 
the sickly morbid sentimentalist can life even become 
wholly a hospital for memory to fill with her sick and 
wounded. To healthy natures there always comes some 
healthy compensation for that which is past and irrevo- 
cable. I think perhaps a very large proportion of our 
lives are dedicated to the task of re-adjusting our views 
to our changed conditions, but surely under every fresh 
dispensation we can find something to build a hope 
upon. Do you not think so?’' 

^‘1 have not, heretofore,” he answered, smiling 
gravely into her eager eyes. Your philosophy is 
breezy and fresh. I think it has comforted me some- 
what to find you possessed of such healthy reasoning 
faculties. I shall feel safer in leaving the decision of 
your longer stay here entirely in your hands. But you 
shall not remain here ignorantly.” 

He came over to where she was sitting on the sofa, 
and seated himself by her side. He did not look at her. 
He began and ended the story he had made up his mind 
to tell her, in a slow, quiet voice, as if he were pre- 
determined to hold himself well in check. 

You knew I was a married man, did you not Miss 
Gordon, when w’e first became acquainted?” 

I had asked Emily about you. It was after that 
first visit I paid to your ofiice with Mamma Ballantyne. 
She told me of your marriage to your mothers step- 
daughter. I have seen the home you took her to. I 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


225 


thought she was dead. I believe the greater number of 
your friends do.” 

Yes. It is my preference they should think so. She 
is very beautiful, is she not?” he asked. 

Absolutely perfect in form and feature.” 

^^Her beauty is the only apology for my folly. Do 
you find her companionable?” 

^^She is very bright,” Thersie answered evasively. 

Can you win her affection? Can you arouse her to 
any sense of moral responsibility? If you can, you will 
have vindicated your claim to be called a ministering 
angel. You have heard how I married my mother's 
fascinating step-daughter. I loved her and desired to 
make her happy. One year of married life revealed to 
me the horrible truth that I had married a creature ab- 
solutely animal in her determination to gratify her own 
cravings and totally without any moral sense or dignity. 
Once, a theft was traced to her hands; once, a drunken 
woman was brought home in my carriage and laid upon 
my nuptial couch; once, the woman, into whose keeping 
I had intrusted my honor and a spotless name, was dis- 
covered in preparation for her appearance before the 
footlights as a ballet-dancer. 

In the passionate reproaches that followed upon her 
offending, it came to light that her own mother had 
been a ballet-dancer, who had decoyed Senor De Costa 
into a marriage with her. 

I had no hope of ever arousing that ballet-dancer's 
daughter to a proper sense of her dignity as my wife. 
She could not or would not reason on the subject. She 
told me that as an unmarried woman she had found 
satisfaction in playing with men's hearts. But that, 
since our stupidly virtuous men considered a married 
woman as beyond the pale of fascination, she must have 
something to amuse herself with. She would give me 
no promisaior the future. Indeed, I should have de- 
pended upon none she could give. 

^^To my horror I discovered the passion for strong 
drink growing upon her. The v/orld had made no dam- 
aging discovery concerning her yet. I could take my 


226 


TBUE TO HERSELF. 


choice of publicly repudiating my beautiful fraud, and 
for ever after sufering the misery of knowing that she 
was free to follow her own evil inclinations, or I could 
bury her and her shame here, out of sight of the world, 
which happily soon forgets, and thus place it out of her 
power ever to make a public display of the woman who 
had lain in my arms, who had borne my name. I chose 
the latter alternative. 

My mother, feeling in a measure responsible for the 
wreck thus brought upon me, voluntarily chose to share 
her exile. She wants for nothing, neither shall she so 
long as she lives. That is,^^ he added, with intense 
bitterness, “she wants for nothing but freedom to bring 
fresh disgrace upon tlie name that received its first stain 
when it became her property. That freedom she shall 
never have. Mrs. Davenport is virtually a prisoner!” 

A profound silence rested upon them both for a brief 
while. Only the sound of a strong man’s heaving chest 
as, the excitement of his revelation over, Leslie Daven- 
port leaned back against the sofa breatliing heavily, 
smote upon her ear. 

Theresa could think of no words meaningful enough 
to offer her sympathy in. 

He spoke again: 

“ I wish 5^ou to decide by to-morrow if you can endure 
to live under the same roof with my wife.” 

Then Thersie stood up before him and held out both 
hands, saying: 

“I do not need so long a preparation. Let me stay, 
please.” 

And in his heart he blessed her. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


m 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE POWER OF MUSIC. 

M r. davenport stood up and extended his 
hand. ‘‘No, we will not consider your answer 
final. Your sympathies are aroused now, and your heart 
may beguile your reason into a decision which, under 
maturer reflection, you would regret having made. I 
have one more request to make of you to-night. I think 
it would add zest to my cigar if you would play or sing 
for me as I smoke it on the gallery. 

“Gladly,” said Thersie; “this is my favorite hour 
for practicing. I play here of evenings until the rest of 
the household are all asleep. I play until I forget my- 
self, my surroundings, and ” 

Apparently she did not think the sentence worth 
finishing, for she turned from him and began whirling 
the revolving piano-stool to a proper height. 

“‘And,^ what chi^d? Remember, little Donna, if 
you decide to remain here, you are in a manner under 
my guardianship. To see to it that your life shall be 
made as bright as possible during your self-imposed 
exile will be one of my most sacred privileges.” 

“I was about to add,” Thersie said, with a shy up- 
ward glance of pity, “my sorrows; but in your presence, 
with a knowledge of your sufferings fresh upon me, I 
think I have no right to claim that word as descriptive 
of my — annoyances.” 

“Perhaps! But I have a man^s strength and hard- 
ness to bring to the support of my burden. I am sup- 
posed to be impervious to suffering. My philosophy, 
men call heartlessness. Because I do not wear my heart 
upon my sleeve for daws to peck, its existence is re- 
garded as problematical. I pass for a piece of animated 
flint.” 


228 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


There are those who know better. I have seen fire 
struck from that flint. Now, then, if you will give me 
some idea of your preference, I will, with the master^s 
permission, go to my practicing/^ 

I desire you to play just as you do every evening. 
Such lonely evenings as tney must be, poor child ! Play 
freely, forgetfully, soulfully. I am no longer here.'’^ 

He disappeared through one of the windows that 
opened upon the veranda, and while Theresa was toying 
with the keys, in idle uncertainty as to wliat she should 
play, for she was consciously anxious that he should 
enjoy her music, she could hear him j^acing sloAvly back- 
ward and forward the full length of the veranda, his 
nearer approach being revealed to her at regular inter- 
vals by the fragrance of his havana. 

Eecalling the tragedy of his past life, bringing to bear 
upon the desolation and loneliness of his present all the 
quickening power of her tender heart, it was not hard 
for Theresa to exalt Leslie Davenport into the realms of 
martjrdom, and with the self-abnegation so characteris- 
tic of her every thought and action, she thanked God 
for the strange accident which had brought her thus 
intimately into his darkened life, and fervently dedi- 
cated herself to the task of stinving to humanize and 
womanize the soulless creature who had for all time to 
come, valuing it so lightly — the honor of his name in 
her keeping. 

He would say this was one of my Quixotic plans for 
the redemption of the world, Thersie said to herself, 
suddenly gliding into the tender and solemn melody of 
Schubert’s serenade. 

Music was a passion with her. She began playing 
with a defined notion that she must please the master. 

She very soon forgot his proximity, his existence, 
after the first half-hour, and played with an abandon 
that seemed to fill the little room with melody, and her 
own soul with an ecstasy of harmony. 

Leslie Davenport paused in his walk, while she was in 
the midst of a wild, weird melod}^, to look in upon her. 

Leaning against a pillar in the outer darkness, the 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


229 


gleam of his cigar making a bright spot on the black- 
ness of the night, he could watch her without being 
himself observed. 

Her profile was toward him — so pure in outline, from 
the slight prominence of the forehead to the softly- 
rounded chin, that those who got their first impression 
from it were apt to feel slightly disappointed when her 
full face was turned upon them, until the light of her 
eyes rested upon them; then Thersie^s claims to beauty 
were accorded without demur. 

So young and slight and tender, so brave and true 
and strong! A woman to be trusted fearlessly. A wo- 
man whose self-reliance is a matter of necessity, not of 
choice. A wife some day to be, who will do her chosen 
lord good and not evil all the days of her life, was the 
summary of the master’s thoughts. 

A heavy sigh from the grass-plot close behind him 
caused Mr. Davenport to turn quickly and peer sharply 
into the gloom of the lawn. 

Who is that?” he asked. 

^^Only Charlie,” came a timidly deprecating voice; 
and Charles Westbrook’s tall form approached a little 
nearer. 

It was a curious fact that Mr. Davenport could ex- 
tract more rational and connected ideas from his unfor- 
tunate cousin than any one else. 

He stepped forward now and held out his hand, say- 
ing, in a commanding voice: 

Come here, Charlie!” 

Charles obeyed the command, and mounted the few 
steps that separated him from his cousin. 

You were listening?” said Mr. Davenport, pointing 
to the lighted library, where Thersie still sat at the 
piano. 

Listening!” Charles echoed, his face beaming with 
delight as his eyes rested on. Thersie and the piano. 

"‘You love it.” 

‘"Yes — h’m — love it.” 

"" You don’t feel angry and miserable, and cruel and 
bitter, while she plays?” 


230 


TBUE TO IIEBSELF. 


Plays he echoed. Plays!” He repeated the 
word wistfully. 

Poor fellow! That was too much of a sentence for 
you to follow. Stand here, Charles.” He placed him 
by the pillar he had been leaning against himself. Do 
not move until I return.” 

Move — return — no!” 

Charles folded his arms in placid content and leaned 
against the pillar, while his cousin stepped into the light 
of the library once more. 

I have come to ask a favor of you,” he said, in a 
low, quick voice, close at Thersie^s elbow. found 
poor Charlie listening to you in ecstatic enjoyment. I 
wish to try an experiment upon him. Will you play 
one or two very lively airs?” 

If I can recall any. I have so little fancy for musi- 
cal jocularity, or jocular melody if you prefer, that I 
know only a limited number. How would this do?” 

And she struck a few chords of a Spanish fandango 
experimentally. 

‘^Admirably! Thanks! I will stay with him to 
watch its effect upon him.” 

Why not bring him in here?” 

That would mar it all. His mind is not so far gone 
that he is unconscious of his own deficiency, and to be 
made an object of attention or pity is misery to him.” 

You are right. I will play then just as long as he 
enjoys it.” 

Left to herself again, Thersie was surprised at her own 
resources in the line of jocular melody. She played her 
merriest strains for another quarter of an hour. The 
Spanish fandango had yielded precedence to the Merry 
Zingarella,” when a figure bounded into the room, 
which, for airy grace, dainty beauty and supreme self- 
possession, might have done duty for an embassadress 
fresh from the court of Queen Titania, burdened with a 
royal message from the royal sprite to groveling human- 
ity. 

In the full, or rather in the scant habiliments of a 
ballet-dancer, with her long hair fantastically plaited up 


TRUE TO HER8ELE. 


m 


with gay ribbons and ropes of pearl beads, a tambourine 
held high in air by arms that were ladened down with 
bracelets and bangles, tiny white satin slippers support- 
ing her in her supple progress across the room on the 
very tips of her toes. Mrs. Davenport stood before the 
astonished musician with the glow of intense excitement 
pervading her cheeks and quivering in her delicate nos- 
trils. 

Where did you learn that?^^ she asked, imperiously. 

It is the first time you have played anything worth 
listening to since you came here. Play it again. Play 
them again — the ^Zingarella^ and the fandango.'^ 

My dear Mrs. Davenport,” Thersie began, utterly at 
a loss how to cope with this human extravaganza in 
abbreviated skirts, nothing would give me greater 
pleasure than to play anything you wish, but surely — 
not — in that.” 

She gazed with crimson cheeks at Isodora^s costume. 

Oh, I know what you are trying to say — I shock 
you,” she said recklessly. I keep this costume on 
hand, and dress up in it and practice. I will get away 
from him yet. I am going on the stage when I do. 
Play! I want to dance!” she concluded, imperiously. 

Thersie glanced nervously through the open window, 
wondering why Leslie Davenport did not come and re- 
lieve her from this painful predicament. She could not 
hear his footfall nor inhale the fragrance of his cigar — 
could not know that he, finding Charles becoming trem- 
ulously excited under the infiuence of the music, had 
gone off with him to his rooms at the remote end of the 
west wing a second or two before his wife's startling 
entree. 

If you will throw that ground you,” Thersie said, 
pointing to the sofa, where her own white Shetland shawl 
lay, "" I will be happy to oblige you.” 

You are hateful and unaccommodating. I can do 
quite well without you. See!” 

Then, twirling her tambourine over her head with the 
skill of an adept, she yielded to the frenzy that had been 
aroused in her by the sound of the gay, familiar Spanish 


232 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


airs, and displayed to Theresa’s shocked e^es her skill as 
a finished and practiced ballet-dancer. 

Where did you learn to do all that?” Thersie asked, 
as the dancer paused, panting for breath and glowing 
with happiness. 

Mindful of her resolve to win this wayward creature 
into the path of reason, she was careful not to antagonize 
her needlessly. 

^^It was born in me. I never learned it. I sucked a 
love of it with my mother’s milk. I took lessons while 
my jailer was at his place of business in New Orleans, 
and he, poor fool, paid so liberally for my painting lessons ! 
I love it. It is all I do love. He thinks to keep me 
from it. I can wait. I do not grow old; he does. He 
looks a thousand; he will die. Ah ! my precious, my only 
love!” — ecstatically clasping her tambourine to her breast 
— ^^he will die, and we will gain our freedom! And 
then — ah! then life will begin in earnest for me. Play! 
It is my piano. I will break it as I did your clock if you 
refuse to accommodate me!” 

Feeling quite sure, since her experience of the morn- 
ing, that Mrs. Davenport was quite equal to carrying 
out her threat, and appalled at the idea of losing the 
piano, her only solace and delight in that remote spot, 
where reparation would be so slow and difiicult, Theresa 
decided that compliance would be the better policy, men- 
tally concluding that Leslie Davenport had fied in dismay 
from the disgraceful exhibition his wife was making of 
herself, and that he would not be an eye-witness of this 
strange scene. 

And so it came about that when, at the expiration of 
five minutes, Mr. Davenport returned to the library from 
seeing Charles safely to his room, he was greeted with the 
amazing spectacle of Theresa playing one of her most 
recklessly rapid bravuras, while his wife was spinning 
about the floor, presenting very much the appearance of 
an intoxicated teetotum. 

A heavy footfall, a low, stern ^^Isodora!” fell on her 
ear, and she looked quickly round to where he stood. 

I thought you would never come!” Theresa cried. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


233 


eagerly, as her hands dropped from the keys, and she 
turned her head so that she might not witness his con- 
fusion. I did not dare refuse!"^ 

^^IsodoraP he demanded in a voice Thersie had never 
heard before, so harsh and vibrant as it was. AVhat is 
the meaning of this disgraceful exposure?” 

^^You here?” she asked, stopping in her dizzy dance 
and looking at him like a frightened child. ^‘1 took it 
for granted you had gone to your rooms hours ago. You 
are not used to keeping such late hours on the planta- 
tion. She played Zingarella. It crazed me. It was my 
mother^’s tune. I used to dance to it before she died. 
I w’ill dance to it again when you die.” 

She seemed to gather courage from her own audacity. 

^‘1 hate you, Leslie Davenport! Take back your 
name, and give me back my freedom! I am like a dog 
wearing a collar branded with its owner^s name. I have 
no more joy or liberty. Play! Ah, swee't Miss Gaylord, 
play that precious tune once more for me!” 

She flung the tambourine from her, and in a passion- 
ate burst of grief flung herself on her knees beside the 
piano-stool, burying her head in Thersie^s lap. 

Silently pointing to tlie shawl on the sofa, Theresa 
conveyed a mute request to Leslie Davenport to hand it 
to her. 

He obeyed; and as she shook it out to its full dimen- 
sions, and threw it like a veil over the tumultuous crea- 
ture kneeling by her side, she did not see the look of 
passionate adoration that flashed down upon her at that 
moment of her sweet, womanly charity for a wayward 
sister. 

^^Come, Isodora,” her husband said, laying his hand 
upon her shoulder, ^‘1 wish to show you to your room.” 

His voice was softer than when he had first called her 
name. 

But Mrs. Davenport only tightened her clasp about 
Thersie^s waist, and refused to be removed. 

Thersie hesitated for a second as to her own r6le in this 
impromptu melodrama, then she said, with decision: 

‘^It grows late, Mrs. Davenport; I am going to play 
one more piece and then close the piano for to-night.” 


234 


TRUE TO EERSELF, 


Then, upon the hush of the room, while Leslie Daven- 
port stood motionless close behind her, and his butterfly 
wife hid her wet face in the gentle singer’s lap, Thersie 
played and sang ^^Come ye disconsolate” with a mean- 
ing born of the needs of that strange moment. 

^^Bah! Your stupid old hymn nearly put me to 
sleep !” said Isodora at its termination, rising to her feet 
with a reckless laugh. 

Thersie rose too. Just in time to frustrate her motion 
at casting the shawl from her shoulders. 

You will catch cold,” she said, going back along 
the veranda to your room. You had best wrap it more 
closely about you,” which she did for her. 

You are a good creature,” Isodora said, ^^and I be- 
lieve I want to kiss you good-night;” a desire which she 
put into execution in her own impetuous fashion. 

Mr. Davenport drew her hand within his arm; then, 
holding out his own to Thersie, he said: 

‘‘ 1 , too, will say good-night, and thank you, and God 
bless you !” 

Dear me! who would have suspected my ogre of 
being so fond of hymns?” said his wife, flippantly. 

for me, I would not give one measure of the Zin- 
garella for all the oratorios in the world. Miss Gaylord, 
I never valued you properly before to-night.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


235 


CHAPTER XXVL 

TONY. 

U XDER ordinary circumstances Leslie Davenport 
had found a week^s stay at the plantation suffi- 
ciently long for him to master the social, agricultural 
and financial status of affairs. But the circumstances 
of his present visit he considered rather extraordinary. 
It was not his usual time of the year for visiting the 
place. Methodical in that, as in all things else, it was 
his custom so to time his visits to his mother's home so 
as to be there during the periodical returns of disorgan- 
ization, which is the rule upon every cotton plantation 
in the South. Although the affairs of the place were 
in the care of a thoroughly competent manager, it was 
always a source of comfort to Mrs. Costa to know that 
Leslie was about. This visit was in the early May- time. 

You know, dear,^^ his mother said, in a confidential 
outburst to Thersie on the eve of her song’s departure, 
there is never any knowing when the chronic dissatis- 
faction of the freedmen will culminate in some overt act 
of rebellion against the authority of my manager. I 
am always so thankful when my son is here at settling- 
time. No one ever questions his justice. No one ever 
demurs to his decisions. My son is autocratic.” 

Thersie smiled indulgently into the face of the 
mother, as she thus calmly arrogated infallibility as pne 
of the shining attributes of her son. 

^^He leaves us to-morrow, I believe?” she said, sort- 
ing her silk patches with industrious zeal. 

Yes, to-morrow! He has stayed longer, by a whole 
week, than is his custom,” Mrs. Costa answered. 
believe he has stayed entirely on your account, too.” 
^^On mine!” Thersie repeated, looking up in per- 


23G 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


plexity, angrily conscious of a red face and accelerated 
pulse. 

Yes, on yours! My son is absolutely just. He can 
read human nature like an open book. Slight as is his 
acquaintance with you, he says you are possessed of a 
Quixotic desire to sacrifice yourself for somebody or 
something in every position in life you find yourself. 
He has been watching you very closely since his arrival, 
to see how you could stand this new strain upon your 
nerves. 

‘‘Has his inspection resulted to my credit Thersie 
asked, not quite amiably. I should rather Mr. Daven- 
port would give me credit for knowing my own mind.” 

“ You are not angry with my son, are you, my dear?” 

Mrs. Costa^s voice contained an inflection of surprise, 
as if, to question her son’s motives, or actions, was to be 
unreasonable, indeed. 

“ I rather think I am. I am inclined to think I ought 
to be, if I am not.” Thersie offered this amendment 
with a nervous little laugh that hadn’t a hint of mirth 
ill it. “ I came here avowedly from motives of my own, 
unconscious that I was taking shelter in the house of my 
brother-in-law’s best friend. Temporarily, I must stay 
away from New Orleans. Why should I not remain here 
quietly, reading, sewing and gossiping with you, practic- 
ing on my beloved instrument in the quiet little room 
yonder, amusing your unfortunate nephew, and ” 

“Enduring my son’s wife.” 

This termination to Thersie’s arguments in favor of 
Elmwood was offered in Mrs. Costa’s bitterest voice and 
most austere looks. 

“ Dear madam, it is not for me to criticise the woman 
who bears your son’s honored name, but — if — you know, 
Mrs. Costa, some natures are more easily influenced by 
outsiders than by those who have the best legitimate 
claims to advise; if, I was going to say, I can in any 
way beneflt her (I don’t want to sound presumptuous, 
and yet I am afraid I am), why, I do not advance that 
hope as the smallest reason why I should stay where I 
am.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


237 


Mrs. Costa had listened to her, bending slightly for- 
ward in her easy-chair — an indication of eager interest 
not often displayed by her; she now dropped back among 
her cushions, and sighed a relieved sigh, as she said: 

Thank you, dear. Tve been really discomposed for 
fear that, what with my son's scruples and your inde- 
pendent notions, I might be deprived of a companion- 
ship that is already becoming indispensable to my com- 
fort. Now, then, if you will be so good as to read me 
another chapter from Mireio — it always soothes me to 
sleep so comfortably — I will be obliged. My son leaves 
us to-night after tea. I desire to be at my best at din-' 
ner." 

Thersie gladly substituted Mireio for the silk scraps, 
and read on and on in that pleasantly modulated voice 
which, had more to do with producing Mrs. Costa's 
somnolence than the book she read, until a gentle snore 
indicated that the desired end had been obtained. 

Eising, she softly threw a gauze veil over the face of 
the sleeper, and stole noiselessly from the room. 

have been waiting for you. I want you to walk 
with me to the bayou," said Leslie Davenport, as she 
stepped on the veranda. This will be my last chance 
at the fish." 

He was sitting on the steps in front of his mother's 
door, engaged in selecting a proper hook for perch from 
the open case on the floor beside him. At the foot of 
tlie steps stood a small attendant from the quarters," 
a can of earthworms in his hand, a gleam of satisfaction 
in his bright, black eyes and a brimless hat stuck reck- 
lessly on the back of his unkempt head. 

Delightful!" Thersie answered hastily; ^^and Mrs. 
Davenport?" 

Declines sitting on a log to be devoured by mosqui- 
toes, while she stares in stupid silence at a stupid man 
with a stupid rod in his hand, stupidly waiting for 
stupider fish that are never caught," Mr. Davenport 
quoted by way of reply. 

^^Is that her summary of the delights of fishing? 
Then small wonder she should decline. As for me, the 


238 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


bayou and tlie fallen log are in themselves inducements 
enough for the walk. It is so pretty down there. Wait, 
please, until I get my sun-hat. 

As Theresa emerged from her own door with her 
largest hat on and drawing her gantlets well up over her 
wrists, Isodora confronted her suddenly, appearing in 
that noiseless fashion which was such a sort of annoy- 
ance to the girhs more honest nature. 

You will come with us, will you not?*^ Thersie said, 
coaxingly, stopping in front of her. 

^^Us! You mean Mr. Davenport and yourself ? You 
are going to fish! He tries to make everybody say they 
like it. Some people are too honest to tell such a fib. 
It is stupid; it burns one^s complexion to a mulatto 
darkness. I am growing too much like Leah from con- 
stant association as it is. No, thanks; you are welcome 
to the bargain — the boys, the fish and the fisherman, 
she said, a jealous fury suddenly flashing into her lovely 
eyes. 

Jealousy is a good sign, Thersie thought, readily 
reading the transparent anger of this child-woman. 
Aloud, she said: ^^Drankly, I do not care for fishing 
myself, but it is so lovely down at the bayou, and the 
skiff is there; we can paddle about safely enough with 
your husband on the bank to keep watch and ward over 

If I go,” Isodora asked eagerly, always bent on quid 
pro quo, "Svill you play the fandango for me to-night ? 
He will be gone. I want to dance. Oh, I must hear it 
again, or I shall die! Say ^ Yes,^ dear Miss Gaylord.” 

‘^Yes,” said Thersie, with grave reluctance, but in- 
wardly resolved to work upon this intractable nature 
with just such tools as came to hand. 

Mr. Davenport looked up with some surprise when he 
found the party had been swelled to three. 

‘^You have changed your mind, I see,” he said, as 
Isodora stood before him wrapping a long gauze veil 
around and around her slender white throat. 

^^No; she changed it for me. If you'd rather. I'll 
change it again and stay at home.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


239 


It was a matter of principle with Mrs. Davenport to 
maintain a strictly antagonistic attitude toward her 
husband. 

I had not desired your company I should not 
have requested it in the first place. I think you should 
be out of doors as much as possible. I am happy to see 
Miss Gaylord has so much influence with you. Come, 
Tony, gather up the traps and bait and let us be mov- 
ing."" 

Oh, she had to promise me to play the Spanish fan- 
dango for me to-night,"" Isodora answered, recklessly, as 
she pirouetted down the steps before them. And if 
Fm awful good, she shall add the Zingarella."" 

I thought it best,"" said Thersie, answering in an 
apologetic undertone the glance of Leslie Davenport"s 
eye. I have made one happy discovery this morning. 
You shall reap the benefit of it later on."" 

Like a gay-winged butterfly Isodora flitted before 
them through the narrow skirt of woodland that inter- 
vened between the house and the bayou, which bordered 
the estate on the south. 

She was dressed in a corn-colored muslin, profusely 
trimmed and decorated with narrow black velvet ribbon, 
floating pennons of Avhich fluttered to the breeze from 
every available point. A crimson bird"s wing stood 
stiffly erect in the band of her round straw hat, and the 
gauze veil, whose voluminous folds she had wrapped 
cautiously about her face and neck, was of the brightest 
azure-blue. 

Theresa and Mr. Davenport walked side by side in 
sober dignity, while Tony brought up the rear, his bare 
black feet treading the rough ground in fearless disre- 
gard of sticks and stones. 

This is a good place. Mass Les,"" he ventured to 
affirm, in a timidly, persuasive voice, suddenly stopping 
at a point of the bayou where three gnarled live-oaks 
sent up their exposed roots far out over the banks of the 
narrow stream, whose waters lay cool and green under 
the overhanging branches of the trees that lined it on 
either side. Daddy allers cotches ’em here."" 


240 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Well, Tony, you and daddy are pretty good author- 
ity in such matters, so, with the ladies'’ permission, we 
•will try our luck at this point,” Mr. Davenport said, 
calling a halt. 

You kin stan^ yon^ner,” Tony continued, delighted 
at the ready acceptance of his suggestions, and pointing 
to a fallen tree, which, covered with moss and vines, 
stretched its majestic length almost across the bayou. 

Daddy allers stands on dat log. An^ missy,” with a 
timid look at Isodora, ‘‘^kin stan here,” selecting the 
mossiest root of the old oak tree, ^^and Miss Gayly” 
(which was the plantation perversion of Thersie’s 
adopted name), ‘^kin stan^ on toother root. Daddy 
allers cotches on ^em here.” 

Having thus disposed of the party to his own satisfac- 
tion, if not to theirs, Tony proceeded gravely to the 
task of baiting the master’s hooks, placidly biting the 
earthworms into the lengths his experienced judgment 
deemed best for the purposes to which they were des- 
tined. 

Where is your boat?” Mrs. Davenport asked per- 
emptorily, including Tony and his master in one sweep- 
ing glance. “^I want that boy to , give me a skiff ride. 
No one supposes that I am going to sit here with 
meekly-folded hands and gaze with conjugal devotion at 
the painted cork on your line bobbing up and down on 
the water.” 

Why not take a line yourself?” Mr. Davenport asked. 

I am going to try it,” Thersie said, if Tony will be 
good enough to select me a light pole and bait my hook 
for me.” 

Cliacun a sou gout,^^ said Isodora; but it is not my 
gout to hold out at arm’s length a pole a mile long, with 
a vague hope of seeing a tremulous motion in the line 
on the end of it, after half an hour’s patient waiting.” 

They bites fass here, missy,” Tony said, persuasively, 
for that peremptory demand for the skiff so early in the 
action, boded ill for his hopes of being permitted to spend 
the morning in loyal servitude to the master he loved so 
well, 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


241 


^ But Mrs* Davenport was not to be persuaded, and 
simply repeated more peremptorily still: 

Where is the skiff, boy?"^ 

Furder down the bayou, missy,” Tony answered, his 
face assuming the sulkiness of disappointment. 

‘^Bait two more hooks, Tony, and go for the boat. 
You are a good enough oarsman to be intrusted with your 
mistress,” Mr. Davenport said, taking the matter in his 
own hands; ^^but I should prefer, Isodora, that you let 
him row you toward the landing; if you paddle about in 
the vicinity of our log, our chances of catching any fish 
for dinner will be materially lessened.” 

It does not matter where, so I get off this buggy old 
tree. Eut, ugh!” she added, gathering her skirt closer 
about her, and flinging volumes of reproach at Thersie 
with her eyes and voice; “how can any woman pretend 
to like such barbarous amusement!” 

“Barbarous!” 

Thersie glanced appreciatively over the placid land- 
scape. As far as the eye could reach broad cotton fields 
extended, where the plow-hands were turning up the 
fresh sod in preparation for another crop. A multitude 
of blackbirds followed closely in the wake of the plowman, 
chattering and making much over the generous feast of 
worms turned up by the glittering blade. Along the 
fence corners and “turn-rows,” peach and plum trees 
waved their bloom-laden branches like censers filling the 
soft spring air with a perfume that mingled deliciously 
with the sweet gum of the woods. The cloudless blue 
of a perfect May sky overarched the world, the placid 
waters of the bayou slept in the green shadows of the 
trees. Even the form of the master, standing there on 
the vine-clad log, his broad shoulders and clean-cut pro- 
file outlined against the blue skies, one foot slightly ele- 
vated on a projecting branch of his natural bridge, his 
eyes fixed in absent meditation on the bobbing cork of 
his line, seemed to Thersie to be part of a scene that had 
not one element of the barbarous in it. 

“ Oh, no,” she said, finally, bringing her eyes back 
to where Isodora stood impatiently gazing down the 


242 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


bayou toward tlie point where Tony would reappear with 
the boat he had gone for, ^^not barbarous! So serene, 
so comforting 

'^Comforting! Bah! what absurd ideas you do ad- 
vance! There the little wretch comes at last/^ As 
Tony, with a swift stroke or two brought the little craft 
within reach, Isodora sprang lightly across the gunwale 
and took her seat in the stern, still keeping a tight grip 
on her dainty skirts. " It^s like everything else in this 
villainous plantation," she called out, contemptuously, 
‘^wet, dirty and rickety." 

'' The boat is perfectly safe," Mr. Davenport replied, 
‘‘ or I should not permit you to go in it. Tony, you are 
not to go beyond the t)ridge. Do you understand? Not 
by one oar^s length." 

Mr. Davenport gave this order with such stern im- 
pressiveness that Theresa wondered, and his wife asked, 
with a strange gleam in her eyes: 

" Why not? What is beyond the bridge?" 

'' You will have gone far enough before rowing to the 
bridge. You will turn back there." Tony put the 
skiff in motion, and it soon glided out of sight. 

"I think," said Theresa, glancing almost timidly 
from where she stood on shore on the roots of the tree, 
to Leslie Davenport, midstream, " that I never before 
heard you give an evasive reply." 

'' There are some natures that cannot be dealt with 
rationally. They are morally sick. One does not waste 
lo^ pc upon moral invalids." 

Then a silence fell between them, which was a tribute 
to the memory of old Izaak Walton, though perhaps not 
so intended. 

Mr. Davenport seemed inclined to reverie, and Thersie 
was never the girl to talk merely for talking^s sake. 

In the meantime Tony had conveyed his mistress far 
out of sight of the silent fishers. 

"Tony," Mrs. Davenport said, assuming her most 
persuasive voice, "how far is the bridge from here?" 

"^Bout a mile ^n^ half," Tony answered, in a voice 
not yet freed from the sulks she had manufactured. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


243 


And where does the bayou lead to?^’ 

Landin'/'’ 

Landing! Do boats ever come up this far?'' 

Boats comes up de ribber, and de bayou goes to de 
ribber," Tony explains. 

Then, if we were to go as far as the bridge, we could 
see the boats?" 

'Tain't but one little boat what comes into de shute 
what leads into de bayou what b’longs to de lake." 

Tony gave these ramifications of the watercourses iii 
Elmwood with the glibness of familiarity. 

And where does that one little steamboat go to?" 

Out to de cotton landin'," 

And what then?" 

Hauls across to de river." 

How far is it across to the river?" 

'Bout two mile." 

Then, if — let us just suppose it, you know, Tony — 
if you were to take me as far as the bridge, I could see 
the little steamboat?" 

Koss you could," said Tony, dogmatically, ^‘^ef it 
were thar." 

And if you were to land me at the bridge, and I was 
to walk across to the steamboat, and the steamboat was 
to take me to the cotton-landing, and I was to walk 
across to the big river, I could get to New' Orleans?" 

Koss you said," said Tony, ^^ef any boat war thar." 

And you are going to do it?" said Isodora, a gleam 
in her eyes that boded no good to Tony. 

Mass Les 'lowed I was to turn back 'fore I reached 
the bridge, missy," said Tony, deprecatingly. 

Of course he did. Monster! Wretch! Tyrant! I 
know now why the bayou-road never enters into our 
drives. I have found an avenue of escape, and I shall 
follow it." 

This she said more to herself than to Tony, and she 
stood up in the boat to see if she could discern any 
smoke on the horizon which would tell of the proximity 
of the little steamboat. But the tree& were too thick 
about her. Nothing was to be seen between their 
branches but the bright blue sky. 


244 


TRUE TO HERSELE. 


Tony/^ she said, dropping back upon the plank 
seat, will give you this ring. See! it is a beautiful 
diamond — I haven^t my purse with me — if you will row 
me to the bridge and — and leave me there 

Her lovely eyes burned with excitement as she leaned 
forward in the boat, holding the glittering bribe close to 
Tonyas wondering eyes. He looked at it — at her — at 
the bridge, now in sight. 

^‘Seel^’^ she cried, in increasing excitement. see 
the smoke of the steamer. It is at the landing now. 
Bow, boy, row! It means life, liberty — escape !^^ 

Tony shook his head in a dogged fashion. 

Mass Les tole me to fotch you back Tore we reach 
the bridge.'’^ 

‘^But the ring, fooir 

What good it gwine to do me ef Mass Les mad at 
me?’^ 

But you need not go back to him.^^ 

^^Whar I gwine, den?^^ 

Where? Anywhere, you idiot. Is this miserable 
hole of a plantation all the world to you 

‘‘ Haddy^s yon^ner; he’d miss me at hoein’ time.” 
^^You miserable ape, to think you have it in your 
power to thwart me!” 

^^An’ mammy’s yon’ner! She’d miss me at milkin’ 
time! An’ de chillun, dey’d miss me, an Mass Les, he’d 
get mad at me.” 

With this climax of probabilities, Tony whirled the 
boat about with one oar and headed her up-stream. 

You are not going to take me back!” she screamed. 
^^Mass Les told me to, missy.” 

^^And you won’t — ^you will not row me to that 
bridge?” 

Mass Les told me not to, missy.” 

Mass Les ” was the law and the prophets to poor, 
untaught Tony. 

^^Tony!” Isodora’s voice was quietly desperate. ^^If 
you will row me to that bridge and go back alone I will 
make you rich — if you don’t I luill hill youF^ 

Tony looked at her in momentary alarm — only mo- 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


245 


mentary. She looked so white and slim and pretty that 
it was impossible to associate murderous intentions with 
her. He shook his head negatively once more. 

Mass Les tole me not to.” 

Quick as a flash the Spanish thirst for vengeance seized 
upon the mistress of Elmwood. This poor, ignorant 
black had dared defy her. With a strength strangely 
disproportioned to her appearance she drew him back- 
ward on the seat and whirled him over the side of the 
skiff; then, in her own ignorant hands she grasped the 
oars, determined to make one desperate effort to escape. 

Tony was a swimmer. All the boys of his age liad 
learned to swim from their tenderest years. He saw the 
efforts she was making to turn the skiff ^s head toward 
the bridge once more. He swam to the side and placed 
his hands upon the gunwale. 

‘‘Will you row me yonder if I take you in?” she asked 
eagerly, hopeless of managing the boat herself. 

“Mass Les tole me not to, missy.” 

“Take that, then!” One stroke of the heavy oar on 
Tonyas unprotected head silenced his last protest — a 
splash, a ripple, a gurgling sound, and Isodora Daven- 
port was left alone in the boat that drifted slowly hither 
and thither on the placid waters of the bayou, just as 
the soft May winds chose to send it. 

And further up the bayou, from his vine-clad log, 
Leslie Davenport was saying: “ They should be returning 
by now. Tony would never disobey me, if obedience 
cost him his life.” 


246 


TRUE TO BERSELE. 


CHAPTEE XXVII. 

COi^SCIEJs’CELESS. 

O NLY a few moments’ elapsed before the master 
gave fresh token of restlessness. He pulled out 
his watch, opened it, noted the time, snapped the case 
impatiently, and turned an anxious glance once more 
down the bayou. 

Are they staying too long?” Thersie asked, following 
his gaze. 

By half an hour. I think,” he added, rapidly reel- 
ing in his line, if you do not mind staying here a little 
while by yourself, I shall walk in the direction of the 
bridge and give them a view halloo. I can see the boat 
after passing that first bend.” 

By all means, go. I shall not in the least mind 
staying by myself. I hope nothing bad has happened.” 

There is never any knowing where she is involved,” 
he said in a low voice, as he strode rapidly in the direc- 
tion of the bridge. 

As he turned the bend, which concealed the long 
sweep of the bayou and a view of the distant bridge, 
Leslie Davenport saw a sight that filled him with per- 
plexity and alarm. 

The boat^s head was turned down stream toward the 
forbidden bridge. In the middle of it, bareheaded, 
stood his wife, vainly trying, by first splashing in the 
water on one side of the boat and then the other with 
the long oars that had proven such efficient implements 
in poor Tonyas skillful hands, to make some progress 
down stream. 

In her impatient anxiety she had cast her hat from 
her, and it now floated on the water, its blue gauze veil 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


247 


spread to its utmost length. Leslie Davenport strode on 
until he was abreast of the boat. Her back was turned 
toward him as he called, loudly and sternly: 

Isodora!"^ 

She dropped speechless upon the seat, the oar falling 
from her nerveless grasp into the water. 

Her face was white and still as the boat swung slowly 
round toward the man on the shore. 

Where is Tony?” he called aloud. 

Folding her hands in an attitude of assume com- 
posure, she answered in a voice of absolute calm: 

^^The next time you intrust your wife to the care of 
an ape, see to it that the ape can take care of himself 
first. Your ape is drowned!” 

Drowned?” 

Fell overboard,” she answered; and from that dis- 
tance he could not see the shiver that convulsed her 
slight frame. 

Bring the boat ashore!” he called. 

“ I cannot. It will not come.” 

Divesting himself of everything but his underwear, 
Mr. Davenport flung himself into the water, and was 
soon alongside the skiff with its helpless cargo. 

He laid his hand upon the gunwale, and looked sternly 
into his wife’s eyes. 

Her face was white, and her eyes, in spite of the bold 
effrontery of her words, wore a startled look. 

You say,” he demanded in a voice of concentrated 
loathing and incredulity, ^‘^that Tony fell overboard?” 

Yes, poor fool! His oar caught in something hid- 
den under the water, and flung him backward and over 
the side of the boat.” 

He did not answer her in words. One look of horror 
took in her whole quivering form, and then, with his 
hand still upon the gunwale, he directed the boat’s head 
toward the point where he had plunged in. 

In unbroken silence he resumed his boots, coat and 
hat, then silently beckoned Isodora to take h^r seat in 
the stern. He took a fresh pair of oars from'iJnder the 
seat, and swiftly rowed back to where Theresa stood 


248 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


watching their coming with some curiosity at the 
exchange of oarsmen and disappearance of Tony. 

What have you done with Tony?^^ she asked as Mr. 
Davenport held out his hand to assist Isodora ashore. 

He has been se7it in another direction/^ he answered, 
and then he knew, by the shiver that convulsed the 
fragile frame of the passionate creature whose hand he 
still held, that he had worded his reply correctly. 


That night, between the hours of eleven and midnight, 
Leslie Davenport entered his wife’s apartments abruptly. 
He was dressed, as he had been all day, in a rough tweed 
suit. His boots were drawn up over his trousers. His 
wristbands were wet and clay-stained, and his slouch-hat 
was drawn down over his eyes, so that nothing but the 
pallor of his cheeks gave token of the agitation that per- 
vaded his wdiole being! 

Isodora was standing before a long dressing-glass, 
braiding her hair in two heavy plaits for the night. 

She gave a hysterical scream as a heavy hand was laid 
upon her shoulder, and her husband’s stern eyes blazed 
at her in the glass. 

We have found him!” he said. 

‘ ^ Well ” She could not repress one long shudder. 

^^Hot well! — and buried him.” 

^^Of course! No one presumed you would leave him 
for the buzzards to dispose of.” 

Woman, or demon, whichever you are!” he groaned, 
forcibly, compelling her to face him as he laid two de- 
taining hands on her shoulders, why did you do it? 
What had that poor, simple lad done to arouse your mur- 
derous hate?” 

“Murderous hate! Could I prevent your stupid ape 
from tumbling into the w^ater? Bah! w^hat a to-do be- 
cause there is one more baboon less in the world.” 

“Hush! If a lie could add one shade of blackness to 
a soul so smirched as yours, it would be added. He did 
not fall overboard !” Leslie laid his hand on the spot on 
his wife’s head, where she had dealt the fatal blow with 
the oar. 


TBUE TO HERSELF. 


240 


Your mark was there! Why did you do it?'^ 

She drew back from him and raised her lovely eyes 
fearlessly to his face, as she answered, in a voice of per- 
fectly assumed serenity: 

He thwarted me! I saw escape before me from you, 
and that poor, ignorant bundle of rags and stupidity had 
it in his power to bring me back to captivity and — to you ! 
I told him if he would take me to the bridge I would 
make him rich — if he brought me back to you and bond- 
age, I would kill him. He made his own choice. You 
can hand me over to justice to-morrow. You had better 
do it. For — listen to me! — sooner or latter, whoever 
stands in my way, shall pay the penalty for their rash- 
ness. Now, then, go away! I am sleepy, and you are 
rude.” 

From impassioned tragedy she dropped suddenly to the 
petulant complaining of a spoiled child. 

Leslie Davenport flung her hands from him with a 
gesture of despair. How could he deal with a nature 
absolutely void of all moral sense? There was no ave- 
nue of approach to her sensibilities, if she possessed 
any. There was nothing for him to do but to endure to 
the bitter end. 

She resumed the plaiting of her hair with a pout, as 
if the matter at issue between them had been of the 
most trivial nature. 

He turned from the room with a groan of helpless 
wretchedness. 

Leah faced him as he entered the corridor. To her 
Lg said: 

Tony's unfortunate accident has caused a delay in 
my departure. I shall leave at daybreak. As you value 
my goodwill, or fear my wrath, never leave her” — 
pointing to the room he had just left — ^^out of your 
sight, save when she is asleep.” 

And Leah promised, with profound solemnity. 

Save when she is asleep,” Isodora repeated, with a 
mocking laugh, as she glided away from the door where 
she had been listening. 

A few moments later the clatter of a horsey’s hoofs 


WmE TO HEB8ELF. 


250 


announced to those of the household who were awake 
that Leslie Davenport had left the plantation to catch 
the steamer southward bound by daybreak. 

Thersie slept but little that night. 

Isodora Davenport slept like a tired child. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 






CHAPTER XXVIII. 

JOSIAH WEARIES OF WELL-DOIHG. 

Y es, but you know ^strue, I wanted her bad 
"nough, you know; but if I caiTt get her, I can’t, 
and thaPs an end oft, you know; and I think, guvbior 
—yes, but you know I do— a bird in the hand’s wortli 
two in the bush, an’ there’s Sallie Williams', you 
know ” 

Hang Sallie Williams, and you, too, for first-class 
dolts!” 

Lawyer Phillips arose in his wrath, and began pacing 
furiously to and fro within the dingy and much-belit- 
tered precincts of his law office. It was bad enough to 
have all his well-laid plans for the social advancement 
of this, his only begotten son, ^^gang aglee” through 
the spirited action of the girl who refused to be coerced 
into a family alliance with the Phillipses, without hav- 
ing J osiah further complicate matters by proposing to 
substitute Sallie Williams for Theresa Gordon! 

Sallie Williams! Bah! the very name told the story 
of her plebeian origin. Who was Salllie Williams? One 
of the five grown daughters of Williams, the under- 
taker! Pretty? Yes, undeniably so, and, divested of 
all attendant circumstances, a deuced deal too good for 
Joe. But Mr. Phillips had set his heart upon reaching 
the social level whereon the Gordons and Ballantynes 
had dwelt in serene security all the days of their lives, 
and this union between Thersie and his son was to prove 
the crowning glory of his ambitious life-struggle. 

Joe smoked his cigarette quietly until the paper came 
in too close proximity to the scattering hair of his sandy 
mustache, when he added the remnants to the pile of 
litter about the stove-box. He stood in wholesome awe 


252 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


of his father^s wrath when it was thoroughly aroused. 
And it was thoroughly aroused now. 

What’s your plans for catching this bird in the bush ?” 
he asked, in a voice of subdued sullenness, wearying of 
the breadful silence. 

Burn the bush, if necessary,” was the grim reply. 

^^Or put salt on the bird’s tail.” Joe ventures occa- 
sionally into mild irony. He was waxing impatient of 
this decided hitch in his matrimonial schemes. 

It seemed an unnecessary exercise of parental tyranny 
that he should be kept in a state of suspense over the 
disappearance of one young lady, who, as it was, had 
always inspired him with more awe than, affection, when 
another, just as pretty, if not quite so regal, was ready 
to say Yes ” to him, and to become his wife to-morrow. 

Plainly, his father was altogether in the wrong; and, 
if Miss Gordon did not come to terms very speedily, he 
had a plan of his own for adjusting matters, and he’d do 
it, too! 

While he was ruminating over this plan of action, and 
rolling a fresh cigarette into shape, his father was con- 
templating him with a most dissatisfied expression of 
countenance. 

‘‘1 say, Joe, stop that infernal smoking of yours for 
half an hour, can’t you, and lend me your ears. Your 
mental capacity is not sufficiently enlarged for you to 
enjoy that cigarette and comprehend what I am going to 
say simultaneously.” 

Joe acquiescently suspended operations, and gave his 
father his undivided attention. 

I don’t feel called on to explain my affairs to you,, 
even if you are a prime factor in this particular plan. 
But I’m going to do it for this once, just to guard against 
the possibility of your flinging all the fat into the fire 
just as I am about to put my finger on this runaway young 
lady.” 

You’ve found her, then?” Joe exclaimed, with a 
gleam of interest in his fishy eyes and an evident acces- 
sion of nervousness. 

Yes; at least, I’m pretty well satisfied on that score. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


;>53 

The name of Phillips, Josiah, don^t carry much weight 
with it in this community. I’ve piled up money enough 
to live in ease on all the days I’m likely to count, 
and to leave you well provided for, which you ought to 
thank God for on your bended knees, Joe; for, if a living 
had to be hammered out of that head of yours, you’d bo 
begging your bread before six months was over.” 

Joe was altogether too familiar with father’s compli- 
mentary valuation of his intellectual powers to take um- 
brage. 

He simply cast a longing look at his unlighted cigar- 
ette, crossed his left leg over his right, gave a jerk at his 
necktie, and said, amiably: 

Yes; but, you know, that’s true!” 

^^Well, as I was saying, on the money score I’m all 
correct. I’ve got time now to indulge in social hanker- 
ings. I hanker after ‘ the good, the true, and the beau- 
tiful,’ Josiah, as exemplified by the society ladies and 
gents of upper-tendom. Theresa Gordon’s is the only 
hand that can unlock those golden portals for the Phil- 
lipses.’" 

Yes; but will she do it? There’s the rub, you know, 
but’s true!” 

Will she do it? She has to do it, or blast t]ie name 
of Ballantyne and Gordon so eternally that even a Phil- 
lips could afford to refuse a swap !” 

Joe’s neck was craned forward in eager curiosity, as 

ri o Q clroH • 

The 'deuce! dad. How?” 

That’s none of your affair; sir. I’ve only told you 
this much to convince you that it is merely a question 
of time as to this haughty minx becoming your wife. I 
put a detective to work last week. I’m in daily expec- 
tation of knowing exactly where Miss Gordon is to be 
found. The finding of her is the only difficulty that 
lies in your way. How, mark my words! Time was 
when things were a little evener than they are noAV be- 
tween Abe Williams and me. He’s gone down in the 
world about as fast as I’ve gone up. You and Sallie 
have known each other all your days. It never occurred 


254 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


to me that you^d be making a fool of yourself about a 
girl youVe fought and scratched with many a time at 
school. But you Just drop that Williams gang, do you 
hear me! For by the eternal! Joe, if you do go and 
get yourself mixed up with that girl, why then, all IVe 
got to say is, that Abe Williams will have two fools to 
support instead of one; for, before you shall bring his 
daughter into this house as your wife, 1^11 endow an in- 
ebriate asylum with my money, and turn you out into 
the street! Do you understand me, Joe?” 

Joe turned a shade or two paler, gripped his necktie 
with a nervous hand, and looked the stove unflinchingly 
in the face. 

You hear me, Joe, don^t you?” 

^^Yes; but, you know, of course, I hear you, father. 
I believe Ifll walk now, if you^re done with me. Ifll 
smoke in the open air.” 

I am done with you for the present. You^d better 
smoke in the open air and digest what I^ve been saying 
to you.” 

As Joe descended the long, narrow flight of stairs 
that led from his father’s office to the street, he met 
face to face an individual whom he knew by name and 
sight to be the most efficient detective in the city of 
New Orleans. 

They passed each other with formal bows. 

^^By George!” Joe thought, within his trembling, 
guilty soul, ^Hie’s found her and the devil will be to 
pay between me and Sallie. I wish I’d never been born. 
Yes, but I do, by George! Things get so deuced tangled 
up in this world, but they do!” 

By the time he had reached the street and this melan- 
choly conclusion, the detective had been ushered into 
Mr. Phillips’ presence. 

Well, what have you discovered?” the lawyer asked, 
with undisguised eagerness. 

I have discovered,” the detective replied, ^^thatMr. 
Leslie Davenport’s aunt engaged a young lady answer- 
ing to the description you gave me, to go into the coun- 
try for some purpose. I have discovered that Mr. Leslie 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


266 


Davenport himself has recently paid the plantation 
a visit at a time of the year not usual with him, and I 
have located that plantation." 

‘‘ Good! That is about all I care to know from any 
outside source. I shall now be enabled to relieve the 
torturing anxiety of my client, this wayward girFs sister, 
Mrs. Frederic Ballantyne. The motive for this freak 
we shall satisfy ourselves about. She was inclined to be 
extravagant, and because her sister and I, her guardians, 
refused to allow her to make ducks and drakes of her 
money, we presume she hit upon this device to make 
some for herself." 

Mr. Phillips thus loquaciously endeavored to place 
Thersie’s flight upon a false footing, naturally desirous 
of shielding his future daughter-in-law from slanderous 
suspicions. 

The detective lingered no longer than was necessary 
to place Mr. Phillips in full possession of the facts he 
had unearthed, and to locate Mrs. Costa^s plantation for 
him. 

In his turn, Mr. Phillips lingered no longer behind 
him than was necessary to write a few short business let- 
ters, when he took his hat and gloves, and went 
straightway to see Mrs. Ballantyne. 

“ I have found her," he said, abruptly, as soon as he 
found himself in presence of his victim. 

Emily was scarcely more than a wreck of what she 
had been before that evil hour when she fell a victim to 
her own soaring ambition. 

Her heart beat so violently at this abrupt announce- 
ment, that it was full a second before she said, in a 
tremulous voice; 

^^Well!" 

Well, w'e must go after her." 

Go after her! We! Who, Mr. Phillips?" 

You and I, Mrs. Ballantyne." 

Then Mr. Phillips told her, in a cold, hard voice, of 
all his efforts to trace Theresa’s whereabouts, and of his 
flnal success. He repeated to her all the information he 
had gathered from the detective. Then he cast one of 


256 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


liis most envenomed darts into that sore and bleeding 
heart. 

"'Your sister has compromised herself hopelessly by 
residing for this length of time under Leslie Davenport^s 
roof. I would not give that (viciously snapping his 
fingers) for her social status in this city after these facts 
transpire. In fact, it materially lessons the disparity 
between her and Josiah, and rather leaves the conde- 
scension in the other side of the balance. 

Mrs. Ballantyne winced like some lashed thing, but 
said, dully: 

" What are we going to do?’^ 

"You and I are going for her. You, because it 
would not do for me to go alone. I could do nothing 
with her. And I, because I do not intend to lose sight 
of her again until this little business transaction of ours 
is closed. 

"When?” 

" Let me see. As to that I shall have to inform my- 
self. I believe no railway penetrates into the bogs where 
she has seen fit to hide herself. I imagine we shall have 
to take some one of the small steamers which run up to 
the bayou regions. I will call again before bedtime and 
let you know exactly our time of departure. The trip 
will do you good. This suspense is wearing you out. 
When Joe and Thersie are married you will be at rest.” 

"At rest!” Emily echoed the words hopelessly, 
drearily. "At rest — never this side; of the grave!” 

" Tut, tut! much ado about nothing!” said the lawyer, 
whose equanimity was entirely restored by the finding of 
the truant. "You owe it to Emile to bear up better.” 

"Ah! what does not Emile owe to me? My boy! my 
proud boy! You would be the first to curse your 
mother,” 

Mr. Phillips looked down upon her with icy indiffer- 
ence as he said: 

" To-morrow we will go for her.” 

And Emily answered: " Whenever you please. I shall 
be ready.” 

And while his father was thus laboring to secure his 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


257 


own social advancement and his son’s happy settlement 
in life, that son was seated in the back parlor of Abram 
Williams, undertaker, in loving proximity to Sallie, his 
prettiest daughter. 

Yes; but, you know, Sallie, I love you better’n I do 
anything on earth,” he was saying. Yes, but it’s true, 
Sallie; and what are we going to do if this girl turns 
up? You know father’s set his heart on me marryin’ 
her, an’ the devil’s to pay generally, Sallie. Yes, hut’s 
true!” 

‘^Do you love that girl, Joe?” Sallie asked, standing 
up and placing two pretty hands on her trembling lover’s 
shoulder. 

‘^‘No, but I don’t. Gad! she scares me! Yes, but she 
does!” 

^^Do you love me, Joe?” 

Joe answered with his lips, his eyes, and his arms. 

Well, then, Joe,” says Sallie, loosening his clinging 
arms with a muscular eifort, and laughing down into his 
foolish face, ‘^Gve’ll have to make the thing inevitable 
before she gets back. Fathers are terrible things to 
threaten, Joe; I’m not afraid but what yours will forgive 
us both when he finds he can’t help himself.” 

"'You mean” — Joe turned white and red by turns; 
white for terror, red for joy — "you mean, Sallie, we 
must git tied up right off? Is that the idea, Sallie?” 

" That’s the idea, Joe,” said the undertaker’s daughter. 

She had no notion of remaining a fifth daughter in a 
poor family when she had a chance to become the first 
one in a rich one. 

"Sallie, you’ve got a great head-piece,” said Joe, 
clasping her rapturously once more in his arms. 

"We’ll need one in the family, Joe, when we are 
married,” she replied, smoothing the bangs his demon- 
strative affection had disturbed. 


258 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


CHAPTEK XXIX. 

G U E fe T S AT ELMWOOD. 

A LADY and a gentleman in the parlor for a Miss 
Gordon. I told them a Miss Gaylord was stop- 
ping here, and they say she is the lady.^^ 

Leah made this announcement to Thersie, as she sat 
reading to Mrs. Costa, in a voice in which surprise, re- 
sentment, curiosity and habitual politeness struggled 
for mastery. 

The book fell from the startled reader^s clasp upon 
the floor. 

Mechanically she put out her hand for the cards Leah 
extended, glanced at the names traced in pencil-marks 
upon them, and turned in childlike misery toward the 
patroness to whom she had become most devotedly at- 
tached in the few months of her domestication at Elm- 
wood. 

Mrs. Costa took the cards and read the names of Mrs. 
Ballantyne and Mr. Phillips. 

Say to them that Miss Gaylord will be with them 
presently, Leah. Now, then, my love, tell me just as 
much as you want me to know, and no more. I scarcely 
know how to advise you at present, but your face tells 
me that this intrusion is not welcome. 

Doubly unwelcome here,^^said the girl, with prompt 
forethought for the masters secret. What about Iso- 
dora?^^ 

Trust Leah. Strangers have occasionally penetrated 
to this retreat, but she has never failed us yet. Isodora^s 
existence will never be suspected. But of yourself! 
Who are these — people?” 

My sister and the father of the man she wishes me 
to marry.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


259 


And whom ” 

will never consent to marry. Death would be 
preferable !” 

There are harder alternatives to meet than death, 
dear. Can you divine no motive for your sister^s per- 
sistence?” 

^^None! Absolutely none!” 

Donna Quixote stood up in irresolute helplessness. 

My poor child, what can I say by way of advice or 
assistance?” 

The tender tones went straight to Thersie^s troubled 
heart. Her lip quivered, and the tears started to her 
eyes. She dashed them hurriedly away. 

I do not want them to see one sign of weakness,” 
she said, bracing herself for the coming interview. 
‘‘ They might mistake it for indications of surrender. 
You can do nothing to help me, dear Mrs. Costa. I 
must fight this battle to the bitter end, single-handed.” 

As she turned to go, Leslie Davenport^s mother drew 
her within her arms, and looked tenderly down into the 
sweet, troubled face. 

I hope they will not take you from me, dear. Son 
would be troubled to know that we had lost you.” 

For one convulsed second Theresa clung to the breast 
that offered her shelter. 

God bless you — and him!” she said, in a low, intense 
voice. 

Then she went hurriedly into the presence of the sister 
from whom she had fled to find that peace which seemed 
likely to elude her grasp for ever. 

Passing swiftly by the lawyer, who was seated nearest 
the door by which she entered the parlor, she walked up 
to Emily, and was about to offer her hand in reserved 
greeting; but the pallor and anguish written in every line 
of that once haughtily handsome face smote her with 
sudden remorse. 

^^Oh! my sister Emily! In God^s name, what has 
wrought this fearful change in you?” And the sisters 
were quickly locked in a mute embrace. 

^"Yourself principally, Theresa,” said Mr. Phillips, 


260 


mUE TO HERSELF. 


coming forward, and speaking in his most authoritative 
manner. Your shameless conduct has almost brought 
your sister to the brink of the grave. Were it not for 
the tender respect in which I hold the memory of your 
father, whose friend and adviser I was before your birth, 
nothing could induce me to condone your very repre- 
hensible conduct. As it is, I have laid aside my business 
matters to accompany your sister here in order, by my 
presence, to sanction your temporary sojourn under the 
roof of a widower. A most damaging proceeding on your 
part, young lady — an inexcusable step altogether — and 
one which, as Josiah^s father, I have plainly the right to 
disapprove of.^^ 

Sister,” said Theresa, erect and wrathful, turning 
her blazing eyes upon the lawyer, as she still embraced 
Emily^s trembling form with one arm, ^Miow has that 
man gained the power to insult both you and me? Your 
complaisance is an unfathomable mystery to me. As for 
you, sir, let me say to you once for all, that Josiah Phil- 
lips is utterly detestable to me, and that you, as his 
father, will never have any legal right to pass sentence 
upon my actions. You have already far transcended 
your privileges as my father’s legal adviser, and the cus- 
todian of my money. I am compelled to say to you that 
your presence here is an intrusion upon the privacy of 
the widow lady whose paid companion I am. No doubt 
my sister can dispense with your escort home. Sister, 
come to my room and rest. Mr. Phillips, no doubt you 
can find rest and refreshment at the landing tavern. 
Mrs. Costa never opens her doors to strangers. She will 
make an exception in favor of my sister only.” 

Hush! child, hush!” Emily began, turning her sunken 
eyes imploringly upon the defiant face of the young girl, 

"^Mr. Phillips is our best ” 

But Mr. Phillips preferred being his own spokesman. 

Our plan of action, Mrs. Ballantyne, was sufficiently 
well-matured before we came, for you to feel in nowise 
disturbed by such childish petulance. I shall return to 
the landing as agreed upon, and remain there. You 
will join me with your sister to-morrow evening. The 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


2(a 

boat passes down the bayou again between ten and 
eleven o^clock, you had best be there by nine, at furthest. 
Remember, absolute and unvarnished dealing with your 
sister, we have concluded to be the wisest policy. As 
for you, my child, I forgive your petulance. 1 make 
full allowance for your natural dislike to have two such 
ogres as your sister and myself pounce upon you in this 
unexpected manner, and upset all your plans for en- 
trapping Mr. Leslie Davenport into a second marriage. 
I shall have to keep this little episode from Joe, for 
though a most humble adorer now, I am afraid he 
might prove a trifle jealous as a husband, Aio revoir! 
my dears.” 

He was gone! Gone beyond the power of words to 
sting him if either of the women standing before him 
had been possessed of words strong enough to couch 
their indignation and disgust in. 

Theresa turned toward her sister once more, fired 
with the determination to reproach her for the misery 
they were mutually involved in, but Emily^s hands were 
held out imploringly, as if she would ward off a blow 
she anticipated and well-deserved, but could not endure. 

^^Take me to your room, child; take me where we 
shall run no risk of interruption. And, oh! Theresa, 
ask God to fill your heart with pity and patience for 
your sister, the most wretched creature on His foot- 
stool.” 

And that night, before she slept, Theresa knew why 
it was that Josiah Phillips" father had the right to insult 
both her and her sister with impunity. Knew why it 
was that to save the names of Ballantyne and Gordon 
from infamy she must marry Josiah Phillips. Knew 
why she must do this thing to save the sister, who had 
been mother and sister in one to her, from death or in- 
sanity. Saw the fearful necessity for self-sacrifice, and 
accepted it shudderingly, loathingly, resolutely, in the 
spirit of self-abnegation that had characterized her every 
action in life, and had won for her from Leslie Daven- 
port the sobriquet of Donna Quixote. 

To that friend"s mother, the next day, all she said by 


S62 


Tlitl^ TO HERSELF. 


way of explanation of her sudden resolve to return to 
New Orleans with her sister, was: 

You said truly, dear Mrs. Costa, ^ there are harder 
alternatives to meet than death. ^ I have been brought 
face to face with one of them — and — vanquished. And, 
oh! say to him — your son, will you not, for me? — that I 
implore him to judge me as leniently as his own uncom- 
promising sense of truth and honor will permit, when — 
he hears — that I am Josiah Phillips^ wife."’"’ 

And when darkness fell once more upon the face of 
the earth, Thersie stood cloaked and bonneted ready to 
take that dismal ride through the forest roads that led 
to the little landing, whence she had disembarked in her 
flight from the home to which she was now returning 
hopeless, but quiescent. 

She had taken a kindly farewell of all the family but 
Leah! 

Leah, always irreproachably correct in the observance 
of politeness, was nowhere to be seen ! She penetrated 
to Mrs. DavenporPs rooms to make her adieux, and to 
see if her Moorish princess was there, perhaps too fear- 
ful of losing sight of her restless charge to come to her, 
was her extenuating thought. 

^^And Leah!^^ she said, after involuntarily assisting at 
a most tragic performance on Isodora^s part. 

In there !^^ she said, pointing to her dressing-room. 

Leah is, after all, mortal! Sometimes she gets fearful 
headaches. She has one now. I hate her; but, after 
all, she^s not to blame. And I’m good to her. IVe 
rubbed her head until she has fallen asleep. I will tell 
her when she awakes that you were so good as to ask for 
her.^^ 

^^If you please. Once more, good-by. 

“ Once more, good-by, said Isodora, with a mocking 
laugh, as the door closed on Thersie. "“"My pretty 
dame, I shall be in New Orleans as .soon as yourself. 
The cart that carries your luggage will be good enough 
for me. Sleep on, Leah, my jailer! That dose of 
laudanum will last you well into to-morrow morning. 
You were not to lose sight of me excepting Avhen asleep. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


263 


Leah. Well, you are asleep, my vigilante. What a 
mercy Miss Gordon^s clothes fit me almost as well as my 
own!” 

While thus delivering herself, in an excited mono- 
logue, Isodora was hastily donning a dress and shawl, 
which Thersie, in her abstracted misery, had left hang- 
ing in her armoire when indifferently packing her 
trunks. 

And when the carriage rolled away from the door 
where poor little Donna Quixote had found temporary 
surcease from trouble, followed by the clumsy plantation 
wagon with the trunks, a nimble-footed woman sprang 
from among the shadows of the gallery, and, curling 
herself mutely in among the trunks, lay there, tremu- 
lous but exultant, through the long, jolting ride, for 
the prospect of freedom loomed near and sure. 

The little boat lay puffing and panting at the landing, 
ready for departure, when the slower moving baggage 
wagon neared the staging. 

Mr. PhiMips had already hurried the two women on 
board. 

No one noticed the lonely form of a third female, who 
walked quietly across the staging, immediately demanded 
a stateroom of the bland clerk, and was soon securely 
locked within it, free from the prying eyes of passengers, 
or danger of detection and detention by Theresa Gor- 
don. 

Isodora^s first act, when securely locked into her pri- 
vate room, was to examine the contents of the small 
satchel she had brought in her hand. 

She scattered its contents recklessly on the bed until 
she came to a key — a strangely made, strong key — which 
she proceeded to tie about her neck with a strong, black 
cord. 

IVe not forgotten the secrets of your combination 
lock, my lord. When I stole this key from your vest- 
pocket the other night it was in preparation for this very 
flight. Ah, Heaven! how many years have I been trying 
to effect this escape? Free! Free at last! Free to 
laiigh, to dance and make merry! Free to wreak my 
long-declared revenge on my husband!” she cried, 


264 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


CHAPTEE XXX. 

EVEKARD BALLANTYKE ACHIEVES HEROISM. 

T hose were not the days of universal railways ana 
omnipresent telegraph poles; hence Theresa and 
her sister had been home some days, and Isodora Daven- 
port had found shelter in an obscure lodging on Eampart 
Street (which she took under an assumed name), before 
Leslie Davenport became aware, through the slow arrival 
of the one mail a week from the plantation, that his 
mother had been left doubly alone by the departure of 
Theresa and the disappearance of his wife. 

The mother^s letter was a curious compound of genu- 
ine grief at the loss of her young companion, and scarcely 
concealed relief that Isodora had, as she believed, settled 
forever the vexed question of what was to be done with 
her. She thus decorously conveyed the startling news 
to her son after having disposed of Thersie^s romance: 

My child, you have absolutely nothing to reproach 
yourself with concerning your unfortunate wife, nor has 
any one who has had charge of her in her half-deranged 
condition. Her disappearance, occurring as it did simul- 
taneously with Miss Gordon^s departure, when our atten- 
tion was of necessity distracted from her momentarily, 
shows with what cunning she devised her plan for self- 
destruction. About noon of the day after Mrs. Ballan- 
tyne and her sister left Leah came to me, looking more 
wild and disheveled than I ever saw her, and asked me, 
in the most excited manner, if I could tell her where 
Mrs. Davenport was. I told her, of course, I could not, 
and, after much questioning, extracted from her that on 
the previous day she had been suffering with a violent 
sick-headache, so much so; that she had lain down on 


TUlJE TO BERSELE. 


the lounge in Isodora^s dressing-room, determined not to 
lose sight of her charge for a moment. Isodora had 
been unusually kind and docile all day, and as she lay 
there came to her with a small vial — a vial, Leah avows, 
out of which she had often herself ministered a sedative 
to her mistress when she had headaches— and persuaded 
her to take a dose, after which she sat down by her and 
smoothed her forehead until unconsciousness overtook 
her. From that moment, Leah tells me, up to within a 
few moments of her coming to me to see if Isodora might 
be with me, she (Leah) was oblivious of every occurrence. 
I went with her to search my daughter-in-law^s room. 
AVe found there the note which I inclose. My poor son, 
what an ending to your ill-assorted marriage! Later on, 
corroboration of what she says therein was found in her 
hat and shawl on the banks of the bayou. Let the 
silent waters of the bayou carry her form to the mighty 
river. The sweeping waters will keep our secret for us. 
It is her own wish that we do not disturb her repose in 
the resting-place of her own choice. I will not mock 
you with words of meaningless condolence. I yearn 
over you, my dear son, in this fresh trial of your forti- 
tude/' 

From the reading of this letter, Mr. Davenport turned 
to the pencil scrawl Isodora had left in her room for his 
further deception. It ran thus: 

Life grows more unendurable to me every day. I 
shall end it to-morrow, hopeless of escape. In that 
bayou where Tony found death, I shall find rest. It is 
my wish that I shall be left undisturbed in the resting- 
place of my own choice. Last wishes are always sacred ! 
I leave you free to marry Miss Gordon. You love each 
other and I know it." 

Mr. Davenport read this note over and over again, 
then tore it into bits no larger than his thumb-nails, 
slowly casting the white fragments, one by one, into the 
glowing embers of the stove, which he opened for the 
purpose. He was not deceived for one moment. 


True to eerbelp. 


^66 


'‘^One more he said, grinding the words between 
his strong: white teeth; then he fell to chewing the long 
ends of his mustache in fierce and bitter reverie. 

Life is too dear to her, death too awful, for Isodora to 
have risked the one or courted the othe-r! That she had 
escaped he was morally sure, and the thought that she 
was at large, free to act upon the dictates of her own 
reckless, if not evil, nature, to commit any impropriety 
her incurabie levity might approve of, was gall and 
wormwood to the proud man who had put his name into 
such ruthless keeping. How to find her became the all- 
absorbing consideration of his days — absorbing to the 
exclusion of all interest in any other person or matter. 

Even Thersie and her troubles seemed to fade away 
into the dim realms of half -forgotten fiction, in presence 
of the awful possibility of fresh disgrace hanging over 
him. That part of his mother’s letter, which told of 
Thersie’s departure, seemed to him of trivial import in 
comparison with the awful reality that his wife was at 
large, and he without the clew to her whereabouts. 

When it becomes necessary for her own ends, she 
will avow her true name and claim my protection 
openly,” he thought with bitter resentment to all who 
had made it possible for this utterly conscienceless and 
heartless creature, so weak, willful and wayward, to hold 
his good name in the balances against her reckless de- 
sires. 

A word with you, if you please, Mr. Davenport.” 

His reverie was intruded upon by his partner, whose 
face and voice were so full of some matter of grave im- 
portance, that for the first time in his life, Leslie Daven- 
port trembled in the presence of a fellow-man. 

This man had heard something about his wife, and 
had come to him with some awful story! was the only 
thought that could gain entrance into his brain chaoti- 
cally full of Isodora and her flight. 

Mr. Drew seated himself opposite his partner and 
said, with startling abruptness: 

Davenport, how many keys are there to our safe? 
How many persons know of the combination?” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


267 


‘ ^ K eys ! Combination 

This matter was so foreign to what he had been brac' 
ing himself to hear, that Mr. Davenport actually stam» 
mered with confusion. 

^^Yes, sir; how many keys are in existence, that 
would unlock our safe, was what I asked you,” Mr. Drew 
repeated, at a loss to understand the evident confusion 
of his partner. 

Three. Yes, three — certainly no more.” 

Mr. Davenport brought his mind back with con- 
siderable difficulty from his own private anxieties to an 
intelligent understanding of his partner’s twice-repeated 
question. 

Three! You carry one, I carry the other, and 
Ballantyne the third!” 

^^Yes! What then?” 

What then? We’ve been robbed, Davenport! The 
safe has been robbed! Some six hundred dollars gone!” 

Impossible,” said the junior partner, with aroused 
interest. 

^^But, confound it, it’s not impossible, it’s so!” 

Safe tampered with?” 

‘^No. Safe unlocked with the proper combination 
key.” 

‘^Impossible!” says Mr. Davenport again. 

“ Impossible, so far as my key is concerned,” says Mr. 
Drew, drawing his triumphantly from his trouser’s 
pocket. “ It has never left my possession!” 

“And mine, also.” Mr. Davenport goes through the 
same motion, but brings a keyless hand out of his 
trouser’s pocket. “ Ah, I remember now,” he adds, 
after a moment’s reflection, “it is in the trousers I 
left ofl on my return from the plantation. I so seldom 
use the key, that I have not missed it before. But no 
one knows the combination but you, Ballantyne and 
myself.” 

“No one at all,” says Mr. Drew, with significant 
positiveness. 

“And I would trust Everard as far as I would you or 
myself.” 


268 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


not prepared to go so far/^ says Mr. Drew, 
drawing a parcel from his pocket, ^‘^the presence of these 
things inside the safe will have to be accounted for by 
Mr. Everard Ballantyne before either one of us sleeps 
to-night. 

He carefully opened his own handkerchief, which had 
been made the temporary depository of the articles re- 
ferred to, and displayed them for Mr. Davenport’s con- 
sideration and utter bewilderment. 

They were a woman^’s pocket-handkerchief, with the 
initials T. embroidered in the corner, and a sealed 
letter addressed to Ballantyne.'’'’ No postmark to 
indicate the whence of this last damaging piece of cir- 
cumstantial evidence. 

You say these things were inside of the safe, Drew.^’'’ 
his partner asked, looking across the desk at him in 
entire surprise and bewilderment. 

‘Hnside the safe, sir — locked in! And six hundred 
dollars cash gone! A pretty kettle of fish!^'’ 

‘'‘^Have you spoken to Ballantyne about it ?^'’ Leslie 
asked. 

^‘^No. I preferred consulting with you first. You 
know, Davenport, Ballantyne never was a favorite of 
mine. He is your protege, a man in whose reformation 
I have never more than half-way believed,'’^ says Mr. 
Drew, preparing for that display of superior foresight 
which should find ready expression in declaring Everard 
a rogue and a fraud on the slightest provocation. 

‘‘'Let us have him in. I make no manner of doubt 
that Mr. Ballantyne can satisfactorily account for the 
accidental presence of these articles in the safe,’^ says Mr. 
Davenport, more stout of voice than he felt at heart. 

“ And as satisfactorily for the accidental absence of 
six hundred dollars?’'’ Mr. Drew asks, with a sneer, as he 
gets up to summon Everard Ballantyne into the presence 
of his employers. 

He came promptly, with head erect, pen behind his 
ears, just as he stuck it on scrambling down from his 
tall office-stool, and some natural curiosity in his face 
touching the rather unusual summons. 


TRUE TO EERSELF. 


269 


Everard Ballantyne looked a little more commonplace 
than when he first entered the employ of Davenport & 
Drew. 

A close psychologist M^ould say that something had 
gone out of his eyes, his face — his soul, perhaps — and 
the close psychologist would not be in error. 

Everard had once been troubled with aspirations, bur- 
dened with ambitions; had had vague notions of being a 
little more than a plodding bread-winner all his days. 
Heroism in some shape or form he had expected to achieve. 
His nature had been a very enthusiastic one. His en- 
thusiasm, in fact, had taken on the shape of hot-headed 
indiscretions in the earlier stages of his career, and brought 
him to grief, as we all know. 

His sister-in-law had helped most effectually to relieve 
him of all superfiuous ambition and enthusiasm. 

Thersie had been one of his ambitions — one of his 
enthusiasms. He had always believed in Thersie. In 
fact, when she had disappeared, he had never lost faith 
in her prudence and common sense. 

He had consoled his mother and Fanny by telling them 
that he felt morally sure Thersie had gone away for some 
good reason, and would return when she saw proper — all 
of which had proven immensely consoling to Mother 
Ballantyne. 

Everard was as happy with Fanny as the average man 
ever is, married to the average woman. He was vaguely 
conscious that he must content himself for all time with 
an average in all matters, or else beat his restlestness out 
against iron, unyielding obstacles. He preferred comfort 
at an average. 

So the bright, yearning, hopeful look had died out of 
his handsome eyes eventually, and he now stood before 
Messrs. Davenport & Drew, a very fair specimen of the 
average cotton clerk in bearing, in looks, in address and 
in feelings. 

Mr. Drew, in a sharp, incisive voice, made a concise 
statement of the safe robbery to their employe, and then 
asked him if he could give the firm any satisfactory ex- 
planation of the presence inside the safe of a sealed letter 


270 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


addressed to himself and a woman^s pocket-handkerchief 
marked 

letter addressed to me?^^ Everard said, in honest 
bewilderment, and held his hand out to receive the 
articles. 

He first examined the handkerchief, G.^^ He 

knew of no name those initials would fit hut Theresa 
Gordon. He trembled as the name fitted itself to the 
initials. His bewilderment took on the form of embar- 
rassment, and a rush of blood to his head caused him to 
place one hand on his forehead for a second. 

‘‘You are agitated, Mr. Ballantyne,^'’ said Mr. Drew, 
cruelly. 

“Sit down, Everard. I am sure you can explain 
matters. 

Leslie Davenport pointed to a vacant chair and spoke 
in his kindliest voice. 

“ Thank you, sir, said Everard,” with a grateful look. 
“ With your permission I shall read this letter; perhaps' 
it may enlighten us all. 

The sound of the envelope being hastily torn open was 
audible in the profound silence that followed his words. 

This is what he read : 

“ Deak Everabd — I owe it to Mother Ballantyne that 
she should be relieved from all anxiety on my account. 
Will you tell her for me that I left my home because 
Emily had set her heart upon a marriage for me to which 
I will never consent. I would rather write this to any 
one than you; but, as I want some business attended to, 
I cannot write to her individually. There are reasons 
why my home here can only he considered temporary. I 
will be of age in two years. Then I can demand my own 
money and do as I please. Until then I am helpless. I 
have urgent need for a few hundred dollars. Can you 
imagine what for? I am so ignorant and have seen so 
little of the world, that when 1 heard of an invalid lady 
of this neighborhood about to take a tour to Europe, I 
instantly resolved, if I could get any of my money from 
Mr. Phillips, without djvulging my whereabouts, I would 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


271 


go with her. I want you to effect this loan for me — I 
must have the money! Write to me at the address given 
below, Everard, and tell me if you can help your old 
friend and playmate in this the most ugent desire of her 
heart.” 

This letter was signed by Theresa Gordon, and the 
address given was Mrs. Costa^s plantation. 

One night, in a moment of enthusiasm over a hook of 
travels, that lady had suggested to Thersie that they 
two should take a European trip together, and for days 
the feasibility of the plan was ardently discussed, during 
which time Thersie had written the letter in question, 
which had not gone off simply for the accident of no 
stamps in the house. Before the next return of mail- 
day, Mrs. Costa^s views on the subject had undergone a 
radical change, and all the difficulties and dangers of 
the undertaking were arrayed in fatal succession against 
it. The letter, useless and forgotten, had been found 
by Isodora in the pocket of the dress she had appro- 
priated along with the handkerchief. 

Knowing well the intricacies of her husband’s office, 
which she had visited many a time in her constant de- 
mands for money, Isodora had only the night before 
contrived to have herself locked in in the coal closet, 
and when, in the middle of the night, she had effectu- 
ally used the key she had stolen from her husband’s 
pocket on his recent visit to the plantation, she had 
placed the letter and handkerchief inside the desk witli 
a view to just the results brought about. 

Everard’s reading of this letter left him almost as 
much bewildered as before. To connect crime with 
Thersie, even in his innermost thoughts, was to be 
guilty of high treason, was simpl}r a mental impossi- 
bility. One idea he grasped: Thersie had confessed her 
need for money! Of course she could explain this 
letter, but these men must never be able to connect her 
name with a scandal of any sort. 

‘^Well, Mr. Ballantyne!” 

It was Mr. Drew, speaking sharply and impatiently. 


m 


TRtfJB! TO UERSELR 


/ 


Gentlemen — lie looked at the partners with sore 
trouble in his eyes — will you give me a few days in 
which to elucidate this matter?’^ 

^^Not an hour, sir! We are entitled, Davenport, I 
should think, to demand the reading of that letter/'’ 

Everard made one step forward, opened the stove, and 
dropped it into the brightest flame. 

That disposes of that demand, he said, letting the 
stove-door swing back to its clasp. 

Mr. Drew uttered an angry expletive. 

^^The robbery, Everard! What have you to say to 
that/^ 

Leslie Davenport looked into the clerk’s face with anx- 
ious, questfoning eyes. 

For a moment the suspected stood looking down upon 
the office stove that had just devoured the only bit of 
evidence that could cast suspicion on any one but him- 
self. It was evident these men — one of them, if not 
both — suspected him of this robbery. Circumstantial 
evidence had hanged many a man, and might ruin him. 
It would be a most difficult matter to prove his inno- 
cence, when he was the only person beside the partners 
who had access to the safe. He had a keen perception 
of the ludicrous side of the thing, too. What a 
bungler they must take him for, to leave that damning 
letter inside the safe! By whom or why the robbery had 
been committed, puzzled him sorely. Thersie’s name 
was the only one that would be mixed up in this affair 
if he did not lie outright to protect it. He looked his 
employers squarely in the face. 

‘^What am I to understand, gentlemen, is the atti- 
tude you have assumed toward me in this matter?” 

My attitude, individually,” said Mr. Drew, without 
hesitation, ‘'Hs that of a man, who, having been robbed 
of a considerable amount of money, proposes to seek re- 
dress or restitution in the law courts.” 

^^You believe then, that I have been guilty of a 
breach of trust toward the Arm of Davenport & Drew?” 

^‘We do not know exactly what to think, Everard,” 
Mr. Davenport began, in a distressed voice, but Mr, 


TRUE TO BERSELE, 


Drew evidently fears the effect of his partner's leniency 
on the culprit, who is looking into Leslie^s face with 
grateful eyes. 

You must clear yourself of all suspicion, Mr. Bal- 
lantyne, before you can hope to have us let this matter 
drop,^^ he says, with harsh decision. 

And if I cannot do that?” 

You must abide by the consequences.” 

And those consequences ” 

Will be determined before the proper tribunals.” 

^^My simple word of honor that 1 did not do this 
thing would not satisfy you, I suppose.” 

A mocking laugh from Mr. Drew and a grave No ” 
from Mr. Davenport disposed of that hope. 

Kestitution and no questions asked!” Everard 
eagerly suggested. 

That would be condoning crime, Mr. Ballantyne.” 

‘^If I plead guilty — what then?” 

Your counsel will have to advise you on that point.” 

Leslie Davenport stood up before the man in whom he 
had come to feel almost a brother's interest, in a fever of 
excitement. He laid his hands upon his clerk^s shoul- 
ders, and said, in a low, strange voice: 

Everard, as Heaven is your witness, speak the 
truth!” 

The silence of a full moment! 

Guilty!” The word came firmly from lips that 
almost smiled. 

Everard shook the elder man^s hands from his shoul- 
ders, and walked out of the room, pale, but erect. 

Heroism in an unsought hour, and in cruellest form, 
he had achieved! 


mUE TO HERSELF. 


‘m 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

EVERAKD CLEARED FROM SUSPICIOK. 

A t that very moment, Theresa Gordon was say- 
ing to Josiah Phillips^ father, as he sat at Mrs. 
Ballantyne’s library desk, with pen, ink and paper be- 
fore him: ^"Restitution shall be made to Everard Ballan- 
tyne in some shape or form. I wish yon joy of your 
success in your matrimonial schemes. I wish your son 
joy of the wife he has won. You say money is no 
object with you — that Josiah has enough for us both'’'’ 
(she quoted his words shudderingly). "" I desire to 
settle my fortune on Mother Ballantyne. I know Ever- 
ard and his children will be benefited by it in that way.'” 

"" That young man has always occupied too large a 
proportion of your time and attention, Theresa,'’^ her 

father-elect says, severely; ""but 

"" PerhapsP Thersie stands at bay once more. ""I 
love him ! I desire to make good the money part of the 
immeasurable wrong done him. You will draw up 
these papers, Mr. Phillips, or else, when I reach my 
majority, I shall endow a lunatic asylum with every cent 
of it.'’^ 

"" You^e just got mischief enough in you to do it.'’^ 
""Just enough!” she answered, recklessly. 

The papers were drawn. Legal witnesses affixed their 
names. Thersie held the precious documents at last in 
her own hands, and she and Josiah^s father were once 
more alone together. 

""And now, my dove, when shall we fix the wedding- 
day? Poor Joe is so madly and stupidly in love with 
you, that all the practical details are left on my hands, '’^ 
says the lawyer, furiously trying to fathom the meaning 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


275 


of the strange calmness that has come over the hotly 
rebellious girl before him. 

Any time/^ she answers, her hands closing a little 
tighter about the legal papers she holds between them. 
^‘To-morrow! To-day! Next week! It is all one to 
me.^^ 

^^Tut, tut! And what about the pretty things all 
brides must have?^^ 

My sister is attending to that,^^ she says, turning a 
passionless face toward him. ^^We will be ready. 

To-day is Tuesday. Tuesday is a fashionable day 
for weddings. We will say to-day two weeks — Tuesday 
fortnight.'’^ 

Tuesday fortnight !^^ she answers, mechanically. 

And I believe it^s not good form for a gentleman to 
call on his fiancee up to the last moment. After this 
evening, Joe had best stay away, I guess.” 

Thank you. Yes; it would not be good form.” 

Well, what more can we do for you?” 

He moved uneasily in his chair. That frozen calm 
troubled him more than the most tempestuous outbreak 
or furious upbraiding. 

^^Who are we?” 

She looked at him icily. 

^^We! Everybody — sister, groom, father-in-law.” 

I don^t think you can possibly do anything more for 
me. You have done all that could be done for me be- 
tween you all. Don't maneuver any more. You have 
my word. Poor Emily! It is killing her fast enough. 
And Emile; he shall not enter upon life with a blight 
upon him. I have not given up much. Only my self- 
respect ! I had no prospects of happiness — knew that I 
never could have — so you are safe. Only leave me in 
peace until that day.” 

You will see Josiah to-night?” 

Yes, I will see Josiah to-night.” 

The lamp-lighters were gliding from post to post with 
ladder and torch, forming in rapid succession of links a 
long, jeweled chain of light, when Thersie left her 
sistePs house accompanied by Kosetta, to pay her first 


276 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


visit to Everard Ballantyne^s little cottage in the oppo- 
site part of the city. 

Mother Ballantyne had come to her on the first news 
of her arrival at home, and had wept and laughed and 
moaned over her in truly hysterical fashion. Fanny 
had sent her a tender little message, explaining how and 
why she could not leave the precincts of her own roof at 
present, but begged her to come to them very soon. 
Everard^s message had been a simple God bless you!^" 

And now, for the first time, she was going to see 
them in their own home. She had Mother Ballantyne^s 
and Emily’s assurance for it that Everard and Fanny 
were as happy as two turtle-doves, and Mother Ballan- 
tyne’s content was self-evident. 

^^You know, dearie,” she said, caressingly twining 
her thin hands about Thersie’s plump round waist, ^M’m 
not the woman I used to be. Fve lost a good deal of 
energy, and Fanny, she is just bubbling over with it. 
I had other fancies once for Everard, dear, you know — 
well — but it’s all for the best. I thank God for sending 
Fanny to us.” 

So do I,” said Thersie; ^^and Everard could never 
have been better suited. Mamma Ballantyne. He and a 
more imperious wife would have clashed.” 

expect you are right, dearie. Yes, we all thank 
God for Fanny.” 

And as Donna Quixote walked up the short pathway 
that led from the little wicket-gate to the cottage door, 
she experienced almost a feeling of happiness at the 
thought that the papers she held in her hand were going 
to add that one touch of material prosperity that serves 
to gild the hardest lot, for Fanny’s revenues, dependent 
as they were upon cotton plantations, subject to over- 
flow, were not sureties of peace and plenty. 

It looks sorter queer,” said Eosetta, as they stood 
upon the small portico, waiting for an answer to their 
ring, ^^to see the front part of the house all dark. They 
mor’ gen ’rally of evenin’s sets in the little parlor. ” 

She made an excursion to the end of the gallery, 
peered through the closed shutters, and returned to re- 
port all dark within. 


TliUE TO HERSELF. 


‘ 2:7 


^'Ring again her mistress says, nervously. 

Another ring brought Mother Ballantyne to the door. 
She looked oldei by years than when Thersie had seen 
her but a day or two before. She stood voiceless and 
white before the two women, simply holding out one 
trembling hand to draw Thersie inside. Rosetta fol- 
lowed of her own accord, and closed the door behind 
them. 

In there,” said the mother, clinging to the strong 
young arm on which she leaned as she pointed to an in- 
ner door. 

"^Is Fanny sick. Mamma Ballantyne?” 

Thersie paused in maidenly reluctance to penetrate 
the mysteries of that sick-room. 

In there! Everard is in there! Go to him, Ther- 
sie, and see if you can make him speak. Oh, darling, 
something awful has happened, and he will not open his 
mouth! And his baby, his boy, he wonT even notice it, 
only moans over Fanny and calls her his poor innocent 
victim. And the baby such a beauty! and we all 
thought our little home would be complete when he 
came. Oh, Thersie, find out what it all means for us. 
In there!” 

She opened a door, and, before Theresa had well col- 
lected her ideas, she found herself alone in the room 
with Everard Ballantyne. 

He was sitting in a chair before the fire, with his head 
dropped upon his breast, in an attitude of the most ab- 
solute indifference to everything going on around him. 

Theresa crossed the room and placed her hand upon 
his shoulder before he noticed the presence of a second 
person in the room. 

Everard!” 

He sprang to his feet at the sound of her voice. 

Thank God! you have come to explain it. I knew 
you would. But how did you hear of it so soon?” 

His face was eager, his voice excited, his appearance 
disheveled. 

He is drinking again,” was Thersie^s first thought. 

Her first words were: 


278 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


^'Explain what, Everard? What is there for me to 
hear?’^ 

‘^Explain what? What is there for you to hear? 
Thersie, you are not going to join the army of vile hyp- 
ocrites that crawl like vermin over all the face of the 
earth 

^‘1 have joined them/’ she said, turning from him 
with a face bathed in crimson, as the thought of Josiah 
Phillips swelled her soul with disgust. But of your- 
self, Ev^rd! You are in trouble. Mamma Ballan- 
tyne tells me so. Cannot I help you, Everard?” 

You, and you alone, Thersie.” 

And yet you waited for me to seek you out in your 
trouble, instead of coming at once to me.” 

It is all so new, so incomprehensible! It just hap- 
pened this morning, and before I had time to collect my 
wits, I was summoned home to Fanny. There is a boy 
in yonder, Thersie — a boy born to a heritage of woe and 
disgrace. God help it and Eanny! They had both 
better had died. But you’ll make it clear — won’t you, 
dear?” he said. 

Everard Ballantyne, be amah! Don’t stand there 
trembling and quaking and mystifying me worse at every 
word. What have I to do with it all? How can I make 
it clear?” 

By explaining to me — only me, Thersie; as God is 
my witness, no one else shall ever know of it — how this 
handkerchief and your letter to me got inside of the safe 
at Davenport & Drew’s? It is your handkerchief, Ther- 
sie — is it not?” 

With a trembling hand he laid the bit of cambric in 
her outstretched hand. 

One glance satisfied her that it was hers. A rosy fiush 
— a fiush that looked like a glow of happiness — dyed 
cheeks, chin and brow. 

Could it be that Leslie Davenport cared enough for 
her to have been carrying about with him this little 
possession of hers, and had carelessly left it inside his 
safe? 

It was the only solution that offered itself. 


TRUE TO HERSELE. g'J'O 

that all?” she said, coolly pocketing the handker- 
chief. 

Her words, the crimson of her face, and her looks 
completed the confusion of the unhappy man before her. 

^^Is that all?” he said, in a voice of shocked amaze- 
ment. ^'Is that not enough, in Heaven^s name, to cover 
you with confusion? But that is not all! Tell me, 
Thersie, as you value the future peace and welfare of a 
man who seems to be the selected puppet of fate, how 
your letter to me came inside that safe.' For Heaven^s 
sake, for my sake, for the sake of my two-houFs old boy, 
clear up this mystery for me!” 

• My letter to you! What letter? Where is it? — let 
me read it.” 

Her bewilderment equaled his at this announcement. 

'^Ybur letter to me! I cannot give it to you. I 
burned it to keep you from being suspected of having 
robbed Davenport & Drew^s. safe of six hundred dollars!” 

Everard Ballantyne, have you taken leave of your 
senses, or are you taking leave of mine?” 

She stood before him a picture of staring bewilder- 
ment. 

^‘Heaven knows! Both perhaps! The whole world, 
indeed, seems topsy-turvy. Everything has taken leave 
of common sense.” 

Thersie brought a chair, and placing it by the one 
he had been sitting in, she said, as soothingly as if ad- 
dressing a delirious patient: 

Now, Everard, sit down here by me, begin at the 
beginning, and tell me your story straight.” 

Which he did in a voice full of distress and anxiety. 

‘^And you took on yourself odium to protect me? 
That was good of you, Everard. Poor Everard — all 
your life you have been more sinned against than sin- 
ning.” 

Then in turn she told him of how she had come to 
write that letter to him, but had never sent it. She did 
not dare tell him of her secret belief — that in some 
way, inexplicable to herself, the letter and handkerchief 
had fallen into Leslie DavenporPs possession. What 


mUE TO EER8ELE. 


280 

his purpose in placing them where he evidently must 
have placed them was to her inexplicable. 

To-morroW:, I think, Everard, I can make it all 
clearer. To-night I scarcely know what to say or 
think. 

^‘^You are losing sight of the main fact, Theresa! 
The robbery! To-morrow I shall be prosecuted for the 
robbery !^^ 

But you never committed it!"*^ 

Of course I did not. That has no bearing on the 
case.'’^ 

You can make restitution.^^ 

Eestitution implies the commission of an offense. 
Moreover, they decline. Drew says it would be condon- 
ing crime. He must sift it to the bottom \” 

Theresa sat pondering over this tangled affair help- 
lessly. 

Leslie Davenport alone could throw any light upon 
this mysterious affair, and to him she must go before 
she could hope to assist Everard from this slough of 
despair. 

^^Everard,^^ she said, very gently, ^^be of good cheer. 
You shall not be prosecuted for an offense you never 
committed. Leslie Davenport is too truly noble a man 
to persecute you or any one else.-’^ 

But Drew — Drew has an old grudge against me. I 
happened into possession of a little piece of crooked- 
ness on his son’s part, and he has never forgiven me the 
knowledge of it.” 

Trust me, Everard. I ” 

A sharply imperative ring at the door startled her 
from the completion of her sentence, and in another 
second Mother Ballantyne opened the door, and said, in 
a voice in which hopelessness seemed in the ascendant: 

See Mr. Davenport! He said he must see you to- 
night on important business.” 

Mr. Davenport looked more surprised than pleased 
when he found himself face to face with Theresa as well 
as Everard Ballantyne. 

will go,” she said, looking at him with timid 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


281 


deprecation. ^^Oh, how stfern he can lookP was her 
inward, tremulous thought. 

She remained coldly silent. Mr. Davenport was pull- 
ing off his gloves thoughtfully. Everard spoke: 

^^On the whole, I had rather not, Thersie. Mr. 
Davenport, Miss Gordon knows of my trouble. For 
reasons of my own, I liave explained it to her. In case 
of — of my being imprisoned, she will be all the com- 
forter my mother and my wife will have."’"’ 

There will be no imprisonment. There will be no 
prosecution. I came here to-night, Ballantyne, to tell 
you that I am morally satisfied that you have been foully 
wronged by the suspicion cast upon you, and to beg 
your pardon for my share in the trouble given you.""^ 

But can you promise as much for Mr. Drew?^^ 

God help us all — I cannot! I can only stop the 
prosecution. I shall try to convince him.'’^ 

And I must for ever remain under the cloud of hav- 
ing been a suspected man?” 

For ever? No!” 

Are you prepared to tell me what has produced this 
change of opinion on your part, Mr. Davenport?” 

“ I owe you more than that. Yes; the knowledge 
that my own key was stolen from my pocket by a per- 
son who once knew the secret of our combination.” 

A sudden glance of comprehension flashed between 
the speaker and Theresa Gordon. 

Isodora!” was her inward exclamation. 

Thank God for my boy's sake! You will tell Mr. 
Drew that much, will you, sir?” 

Everard looked his employer eagerly in the face. 

Trust me. Your boy, you say? I did not know 
you were a father.” 

My boy opened his eyes to the world almost at the 
moment this dark cloud of suspicion gathered about his 
father's head,” said Everard. I have taken no joy in 
his existence up to this moment.” 

You spoke of restitution this morning, Ballantyne. ” 

Yes, sir; but it was refused.” 

I offer it now. Let me make restitution to your un- 
named boj — Leslie Davenport's adopted heir,” 


282 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Leslie Davenport’s iiainesake, may I add?” 

And then the proud father went away to make Fanny 
the participant of his great relief and joy. 

As the door closed upon him, Theresa raised her dark 
eyes to the merchant’s cold, grave face. 

Will not my friend explain this mystery to me?” 

My wife is reported drowned,” he said, with harsh 
abruptness. She is, in reality, at large, and in this 
city. The presence of that handkerchief and letter in 
the safe are still a mystery to me. The theft of my key 
fastens the guilt where it belongs.” 

The handkerchief was mine; the letter one I wrote 
to Mr. Ballantyne, but never sent. I, too, am at a loss 
to understand their presence in your safe. I had 
thought — had thought ” 

She stopped in painful confusion. 

Had thought what, Theresa?” 

He had never called her so; but it sounded altogether, 
right and natural, and her heart beat a little the faster 
for it. 

That perhaps they had accidentally fallen into your 
possession, perhaps been forwarded by Mrs. Costa, and 
you had intended returning them to me.” 

‘^No, your theory is altogether at fault Then 
Ballantyne took this odium on himself to shield you — to 
name out of the discussion?” 



She said it simply, but her face was aglow. 

And God bless him for it!” 

He said it quietly, but his face was aglow. 

I have a clew,” he added. Can you help me 
to identify this?” 

Mr. Davenport placed in her hand a torn and ragged 
piece of gray woolen stuff. 

I found this attached to the iron hasp of my back 
shutters at the office.” 

Theresa examined it minutely. 

'Ht tells the whole story,” she said, looking him pity- 
ingly in the face. ''That is a piece out of the sleeve of 
a dress which I forgot on the day I was packing up. No 


mUE TO hersele. 


m 


doubt Isodora wore that dress when she escaped. The 
letter and handkerchief were in the pocket. She has 
done this thing. AYe must find herT'’ 

^^Wer 

She banded herself together with him to save his 
name — dearer than her own — from disgrace. Josiah 
Phillips, and the impending horror of her marriage with 
him became, for the time, secondary and vague. Leslie 
Davenport’s secret must be kept. 

To serve the man she loves is the sweetest joy life can 
offer to a true woman ! 

Life had offered Thersie this sweet, rare chance. She 
grasped it eagerly. 

Yes,” she repeated, softly, ^^we must find her.” 

And he — he gathered her in passionate indiscretion 
into his arms, with a murmured, God bless you, child, 
for that little ^we’!” 

Everard’s return intercepted the continuation of this 
subject, and Thersie left the two men alone while she 
went into Fanny’s room. 

I did not know,” she said, bending with girlish shy- 
ness over the bundle of pink flesh and ribbons and soft 
muslin that Fanny proudly presented as her son, that 
this small actor had come upon the stage. I came here 
to-night to make Mother Ballantyne a birthday present. 
This is your birthday, isn’t it. Mamma B. ?” 

‘‘Yes, dearie; and I was just saying to Fanny it 
seemed such a wonderful coincidence the baby should 
have come on the same day.” 

“Leslie! Leslie Davenport Ballantyne, God be with 
you always!” An ineffable sweetness filled Thersie’s 
face, voice and eyes, as she bent in benediction over 
Everard’s son. 

“I am forgetting all this time,” she said, turning 
from the cradle to where Mother Ballantyne was mixing 
some strange decoction over a small lamp stove, “ that 
I came here on urgent business, and that there is a visi- 
tor at our house probably waiting for me. This is my 
business: Put this big envelope away. Mamma Ballan- 
tyne, and on the day after my marriage open it, and 
master its contents.” 


284 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


She laid the envelope on the mantelshelf before Mrs. 
Ballantjrne’s eyes. 

The day after your marriage! You married, Ther- 
sie! And who is the thrice fortunate man?^^ 

It was Fanny^s eager voice that asked the question. 
^‘^The thrice fortunate man is Mr. Josiah Phillips! 
Wish me joy. Mamma Ballantyne! Wish me joy, 
Fanny!” and she went away from them with a ringing, 
mocking laugh on her lips. 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


285 


CHAPTER XXXIL 


THE BITTER EHD, 



HE TWO weeks that succeeded the events nar- 


i rated in the last chapter seemed cruelly short to 
Thersie Gordon. Outwardly she was grave, calm and 
composed. Toward the sister for whom she was making 
this tremendous sacrifice, her manners were gentle and 
affectionate. How could they be otherwise. It was 
jiatent to the most careless observer that Emily Ballan- 
tyne was slowly fading from earth. Going into a 
rapid decline, the knowing ones declared, just as her 
mother had gone before her.^^ 

Only three people knew better. The lawyer, Thersie 
and herself. 

‘'After all,” Theresa reasoned within herself, “I 
sacrificed no happiness. I had none to sacrifice. Never 
could have had any. Perhaps a substitute for happiness 
can be found in ipinistering to her peace of mind. That 
is all there is left possible for me.” 

As for Josiah, he had come on the evening she had ex- 
pected him, and behaved with such remarkable modesty 
and confusion, that her contempt had been largely 
diffused with pity for him as well as herself. 

“You know,” he had said, helplessly twirling his hat 
in his nervous hands, as he stood halting through his 
adieux, “ you know, yes, but ^strue, you know, I donT 
want to make any girl unhappy, an’ you know, I know, 
yes, you know, but ’strue, that you don’t care a toss-up 
for me, and it’s all father’s doings, an’ you know, I 
know you’d think a long sight better of me if I’d go 
away and not pester you any more. Yes, but you know 
’strue!” 

He looked at her eagerly, grasping his necktie as if to 


TRUE TO BBRSELE. 


secure more breathing-space^ or to rein himself compul- 
sorily from flight. His expression indicated a distinct 
desire that she would order him to go away and not 

pester her any more. 

But Thersie had already swallowed the bitter draught. 

We’ve gotten through with the preliminaries, Mr. 
Phillips, she answered, scanning the weak face before 
her in the vain hope of flnding one redeeming feature. 

There is scarcely any use of discussing the whys and 
wherefores any more. Perhaps, after this evening, it 
would be best for us not to see each other any more 
until 

Yes, but you know ^strue, youTe right. Joe 
clutches eagerly at this reprieve. ^^YouTe just head 
and shoulders ahead of all the other girls, an^ I think 
lots of you; buPs true. Yes, but youTe right. I^m 
best out of the way till 

Tuesday fortnight,^^ says Thersie, extending her 
hand in chilling adieu. 

And straightway from her presence Josiah sought 
Sallie Williams, and laid the state of affairs before her. 

You know, Sallie,’’^ he said, in lugubrious confusion, 

if you canT hatch a scheme P save us, weTe gone coons. 
Yes, but we are, Sallie, my hearths delight.” 

And Sallie promised faithfully to hatch a scheme” 
to save her lover and her own prospects of a brilliant 
settlement in life. 

One week more of freedom only remained to Donna 
Quixote. How precious the moments! How fast they 
flew! 

It was a dreary farce of interest in silks and laces, and 
tulle and flowers, that she and Emily enacted between 
them. More, it would seem, for the deception of milli- 
ners and mantua-makers than for anything else. 

It was on the Tuesday morning preceding the one fixed 
for her marriage with Josiah, that Theresa received a 
sudden and startling summons from Swedish Cora. 

Nannie brought the following note to the house on 
Esplanade Street, and Felix said she would wait for the 
answer: 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


m 


‘‘ Dear Miss Gordoi^ — My mother has just come in 
from her weekly cleaning and airing of the ^ big house/ 
and without giving me any reason to give to you, she 
has told me to write and ask you if you would come here 
at once. She says she knows you will forgive her when 
you find out why she sent for you, and I hope you will 
come, because, dear Miss Gordon, i have not seen my 
beloved teacher for so long, that I shall be glad of almost 
any excuse for asking her to come to the cripple^s cot- 
tage again. 

Miss Gordon s answer to this note was to throw on her 
hat and vail, and to join Nannie in her homeward walk. 

It was an entirely silent walk. Nannie was too timid 
to take the initiative in conversftion, and Theresa was 
too much agitated to care for the child's embarrassment. 

She felt instinctively that this summons was in some 
way or other connected with Isodora Davenport. 

At any rate she would stand once more in the vailed 
drawing-rooms. 

Cora’s mother scarcely gave her time to greet the crip- 
ple, whose face was fairly irradiated with happiness at 
her coming, before she hurried her into the little kitchen 
at the rear of the cottage; and first making sure that 
eavesdropping was a practical impossibility, she began 
pouring out her wondrous tale with such volubility, that 
if Thersie had not possessed a clew, it would have been 
scarcely intelligible. 

The strangest thing had happened, and, to the gar- 
dener^swife, the most incomprehensible! She had gone, 
as usual, that morning to air and clean the dust-laden 
rooms of the big house. She did it religiously every 
week, for Happen, you know, miss, the master might 
some of these days bring home another mistress, and, f or 
his sake, God grant it may turn out so!” And the blue 
chamber — the one, she volubly informed Thersie, that 
had always beeil called the bridal-chamber, because the 
beautiful mistress was nothing more than a bride when 
she went away from it — the blue chamber that opened 
into the garden at the east end of the house, she had dis- 


288 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


covered, had been opened from the garden side; the bolts 
of the shutters, she said, in self -extenuation, had grown 
rusty, and had not been hard to force from the outside. 

always "walk round that side of the house, because 
the basement-door on that side has the best lock,’’^ she 
said. 

She discovered that the shutter was slightly sprung 
from its hasp. She immediately hurried through the 
basement to that part of the house, fearful of burglars, 
but crediting no other possible disturbers. 

And there, miss,^^ she continued, in growing excite- 
ment — there, laying on the blue bed, with a pair of 
the biggest, handsomest eyes wide open, lay the beauti- 
f idlest woman that ever these eyes of mine rested on! 
Her face was like wax; her cheeks was aflame with 
fever; her eyes glowed like coals of fire. She looked 
straight at me, and said, sort of begging like: 

^ Fve come home to die. This is my room. You 
wonT tell anybody I^m here ? I wonT trouble you long. 
When I-m dead, send for Mr. Leslie Davenport. He is 
my husband. He cannot reproach me when I am 
dead 

''And there she is now. Miss Gordon, and me that 
bewildered, that sendin'’ for you was all I could think of 
to do, to save my life. An^ so I done it.^^ 

" She is not dead?” said Theresa, eagerly. 

"Hot dead, nor, for all I know, likely to die. She's 
sick, though, and she may be a-lyin' on the master, for 
all I know. But, you know, miss, there were always a 
mystery 'bout the master's wife.” 

Theresa was perfectly willing for her to hold fast by 
the hypothesis that would best keep her friend's secret. 

"Perhaps she may be an impostor,” she said. " But 
Mr. Davenport is the last person who would sanction 
your turning a sick woman from his doors, be she who 
she may be. You have not spoken of this matter to the 
children?” she added. • 

"Blessed Jesu! no. Hot a wink would they sleep for 
a week if they knew about it, nor the old man neither. 
They think the big house eerie enough as it is.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


289 


I will go up to see this sick woman, and when I go 
back to town I can let Mr. Davenport know about it. 
But listen to me; as you prize the master^s goodwill — in 
fact, as you value your husband^s position here and your 
home — do not make this affair a matter of gossip with 
any one.” 

A look of offended reproach was all the answer she 
received as she turned away with the gardener^s wife to 
go to the big house. 

She hesitated on the threshold of the blue room. 

You need not come in with me. Two strange faces 
might alarm the sick woman. I will attend to her.” 

The gardener’s wife gladly accepted her release, and 
Thersie entered Isodora’s presence alone. 

She lay wdth closed eyes, one small, feverish hand 
plucking nervously at the fringe of the blue silk cover- 
let that was spread over the bed. 

Theresa glanced around to where the clothes she had • 
worn were flung upon the sofa. The scant, tawdry and 
bespangled raiment of a ballet-dancer were scattered 
thereon. On the floor was a pair of soiled and grass- 
stained pink kid slippers. 

Covered with shame and grief for Leslie Davenport, 
Theresa wrapped all these eloquent witnesses to his 
wife’s incurable folly in the rough shawl that she had 
evidently worn above them all, and opening the mir- 
rored door of the big rosewood armoire that adorned one 
side of the room, she thrust them in, to hide them 
temporarily from view. 

The creaking of the door, so long undisturbed on its 
hinges, aroused the sleeper. 

You here!” she said, in a perfectly tranquil voice, 
all the petulance, all the passion, gone out of it. 

Isodora!” said Theresa, hastening to her side. You 
are sick. I accidentally heard of it, and I thought you 
would want a friend by your side.” 

Yes,” she said, catching her breath with a groan; 
^^he has killed me at last!” She turned her lovely eyes 
full upon the sweet, pure face bending over her. And 
you and he will be happy!” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


^>90 

A spasm of fierce jealousy distorted every feature of 
her face. 

Hush, unhappy woman! Why will you persist in 
reviling the husband who has never wronged you! Oh, 
Isodora, think of your own folly! How has he killed 
you ?” 

By hunting me down! I was happy, happy, after 
I escaped from him, and I danced every night; and three 
nights ago, when I went back to my room they told me 
the detective was on my trail, and I knew they would 
never think of looking for me here where I belong; so 
I ran all the way here through the cold, damp night air, 
and my feet got wet before I could force that stubborn 
shutter open; and — and I thought to die here alone. 
It^s pneumonia. IVe had these pains once before, and 
I will never dance again. Never, never, never! Never 
hear the loud applause! Never thrill to the clapping of 
enraptured hands!” 

Her voice died away in a melancholy wail. 

Theresa seated herself on the bed by her side, and 
smoothing the rumpled hair back from the hot and 
fevered brow, she spoke as to an ailing child: 

Isodora, I am going to send for your husband. He 
will be good to you, and forgive you ” 

And thank me for dying!” she said mockingly. 

Can anything make you do him justice?” Theresa 
asked, solemnly. 

Yes; tell me you are not going to marry him. I 
hate him! hate him so fiercely, that I would kill you if 
I could, to keep him from being happy with you; for, if 
I love you, and I do. Miss Gaylord; how can any one 
help loving you? Leslie loves you. I hate him!” 

AYill you turn your thoughts to more solemn things, 
Isodora, if I put your mind at rest on that score?” she 
asked, holding the rebellious hands in a firm grasp, and 
looking down into the star-like eyes of the sick woman. 

The childish mouth quivered tremulously. 

Yes, yes, yes!” she answered, with feverish haste. 

To-day, one week, I am going to be married!” says- 
Thersie, with the gloom of the confessional in her voice.. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


291 


Prove it to 

Theresa held up the hand thab was burdened with 
Josiah Phillips^ flashing guage d' amour. 

The dying woman gazed upon the magnificent soli- 
taire with childlike curiosity. 

*^It is beautiful/^ she said; ^^far handsomer than the 
one Leslie gave me.'’^ 

Has she a soul to save?^^ Theresa groaned audibly. 

If she had, the avenue to it was choked and weed- 
grown beyond discovery. 

^^You may send for my husband now. I believe — 
yes, I believe I would like to get well. Do you think I 
might. And, Miss Gaylord, if I do, will you — will you 
help me to be like you? I think Leslie would love me 
then. God has forgiven great sinners — he might forgive 
even me.^^ 

The first tears that Thersie had ever seen her shed 
now gemmed the long, dark lashes, as Isodora closed her 
eyes and turned her head slightly away, as if ashamed 
of this one touch of womanliness. 

We will get you well first, and then we will talk of 
all sorts of matters. Now I am going to leave you 
alone for a very little while. I am going to let Mr. 
Davenport know that his wife is in her own home.” 

^‘^It is so pretty, isn’t it?” said the sick woman, glanc- 
ing about her with feverishly bright eyes. 

She sat eagerly up in bed to renew acquaintance with 
the luxurious objects that Leslie Davenport, iii the days 
of his infatuation, had gathered here for the adornment 
of this room for his bride. 

For many excited moments she prattled on about the 
various objects once so familiar. At last came the final 
confession, wrung from her in a spasm of remorse: 

^^Ah! I sinned against Heaven and against him!” 

That night Leslie Davenport sat by the side of the 
woman who had made such wreck of his life and of her 
own. 

The physician whom he had brought with him had 
stayed but a few moments. 

^^She is in the hands of the Great Physician,” he 
had said; her malady is beyond mortal man’s help.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Before her husband had reached her side, delirium 
had set in, and it was to the wild ravings of a fever- 
crazed brain that he listened with infinite patience 
through the long night, soothed and sustained by the 
presence of Donna Quixote> who never left her post by 
the sick woman’s side until the lovely eyes closed for 
ever upon this world, and the mutinous lips ceased to 
murmur or to moan. 

At one time it was to excited, triumphant babblings of 
the ballet-dancer, intoxicated with tawdry triumphs, that 
Leslie Davenport listened with shame-bowed head! At 
the next, to cruel upbraiding of himself for her death; 
through it all, at quick, returning intervals, rang out 
one connected sentence, clear, loud, fraught with mean- 
ing: 

They cannot have each other! She belongs to some- 
body else!” 

Leslie Davenport raised his gloomy eyes, and looked 
inquiringly into Thersie’s pure, grave face the first time 
these words smote upon his ears. 

A crimson flood was bathing her face and neck. Her 
eyes were down-dropped to the wan face upon the pillows. 
IJpon the soft white hand that rested on his wife’s fore- 
head he saw the flashing diamond, and it made clear the 
sick woman’s ravings. 

^^She loved you, after all,” said Thersie, casting about 
for one crumb of comfort for her friend, as the gray 
morning light crept through the slats of the shutter and 
rested upon Isodora Davenport’s face, calm at last — all 
the restlessness, all the turbulence all the passion gone 
out of it for ever! 

^‘May Grod have mercy upon her soul!” Leslie Dav- 
enport says, as he bends over and plants a kiss of abso- 
lute forgiveness on the marble brow of his dead wife. 


mUE TO HERSELF. 


293 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

MES. JOSIAH PHILLIPS. 

I T WAS some relief to Theresa to know that the ar- 
rangements made by Mr. Phillips and her sister for 
the honeymoon that was presumably fulling for her 
and Josiah, involved an extended tour and a month spent 
at Nice for Mrs. Fredericks health. 

After all/k Emily thought, remorsefully, '^I shall 
in all probability die very soon; what a pitty I could not 
have gained release from shame and misery in that way, 
without leaving that poor, innocent child bound in the 
ignominy of a marriage so loathsome 

It was not in Thersie to do things half-way. She had 
no more reproaches for her sister after the first wild out- 
burst of surprise and disgust that had escaped her in her 
room at Mrs. Costa^s. 

Ho reproaches! No, none in words! But the pallor 
of her cheeks. The pathetic compression about the cor- 
ners of her sweet mouth. ' The hopeless gravity of her big 
eyes. The low, equable tones of her gentle voice. Never 
rising to the infiections of merriment, or dropping to the . 
sad minor of complaint, all bore irrefragable witness to 
the fact that the iron had entered her soul very deeply. 

It was Monday morning! The trousseau had been 
sent home, tried on, passed judgment upon, and packed 
in the big traveling-trunks by Rosettaks deft hands. 

Thersie, herself, was wandering restlessly around her 
room, now vailing a picture on the wall, now standing 
with quietly folded hands before the fire, gazing with 
far-seeing eyes, beyond the glowing coals that filled the 
grate with brightness and warmth, now into the future, 
when the gray ashes would lie upon the hearth cold and 
dead. 


294 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


Ashes! Cold, gray ashes! They fill all my future. 
Ashes of dead hopes! Ashes of all the bright ambi- 
tions; all the heart-warming fancies; all that filled my 
life and heart with brightness and with warmth. - Ob ! 
the future is horrible! May I die young!” 

Eosetta came in and handed her a package. It was 
not very large, but she trembled as she took it in her 
hand and waved the girl from the room. 

It bore a foreign post-mark, and her name was traced 
thereon in Leslie Davenport^s handwriting. 

She opened it. 

A pair of bracelets, heavy gold, padlocked together, 
lay upon a bed of pink jeweler^s cotton. 

A bridal gift from a wanderer. Who says they look 
like manacles? And if they be, are the manacles not of 
heavy, enduring gold?” 

Theresa read these cruel words twice over. Hot, 
blinding tears sprang to her eyes and blurred the words. 

^^Oh! monstrous cruelty, how plainly his gift ex- 
presses his contempt? I saw it in his eyes when they 
rested on that hateful diamond ring! I heard it in his 
voice when he came to tell me good-by, and asked me to 
tell him ^who the fortunate man was.^ Oh! Josiah 
Phillips, if ever your name sounded loathsome in my 
ears, it was when he repeated it after me, and then flung 
my hand away from him, laughing in that ringing, 
mocking laugh, as he said, ^Sold! sold! and I thought 
she was a little different from other women. ^ Oh! God, 
if he might only some day or other know the truth! 
Eosetta again! May I not have a few moments to 'my- 
self this morning, girl!” 

Eosetta stood aghast at the unusual asperity in her 
young lady’s voice. 

^^All the morning for me, Miss Thersie,” she an- 
swered, surlily; only there is a young woman down- 
stairs who says she wants to see you, which won’t take 
no denial.” 

A young woman! What does she want?” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


S95 


^^She wants you miss; and she says her business is 
that pressing that this morning, and no other time, will 
do for it; says she must see you alone.” 

Bring her up here, then.” 

Miss Gordon rises to put away the bracelets. Her in- 
tention was to burn them. But now she must wait until 
this importunate visitor was gone. 

She had barely time to turn the key of her bureau 
upon Leslie Davenport’s taunt, when the door opened, 
and a handsome young woman, whom she was quite 
sure she had never seen, stood for a moment upon the 
threshold, looking at her in a keenly scrutinizing 
fashion. 

Then she came forward, and, holding out her hand, 
said, with the most startling abruptness: 

I believe you will thank me for what I have come 
here to say. You don’t look happy one bit, and I don’t 
believe you are one bit in love with Josiah Phillips.” 

^^In love with Josiah Phillips! I absolutely abhor 
him I” 

The thought that any one could for a moment enter- 
tain so repugnant an idea in connection with herself was 
so offensive to Theresa that she lost sight of all propriety 
in her hot haste to refute it. 

Very good! But you needn’t be quite so strong in 
your adjectives, either,” said her strange visitor, coolly 
seating herself unasked. 

Who are you, anyhow?” Theresa asked, blushing 
for her own indiscretion. And what right have you 
to intrude upon me any opinion about my private 
affairs?” 

^^To answer you categorically, I am Mrs. Josiah 
Phillips! And as for your private affairs, I’m not in- 
truding any opinion upon you. Your proposed marriage 
to Mr. Phillips is something of a public affair.” 

As Theresa stood voiceless from astonishment before 
her, Mrs. Josiah Phillips continued: 

Joe was a fool ever to aspire to such a woman as 
you; but, as he is my husband, I’m not going to let 
other people belittle him — at least, not in my hearing.” 


296 


mVE TO HERSELF. 


'“^Your husband! How long has he been your hus- 
band?” 

Mrs. Phillips drew a heavy gold watch from a hidden 
receptacle under the skirt of her silk velvet basque, and 
consulted the hands before she answered, composedly: 

Just one hour and twenty-three minutes!” 

^^Oh, you dear, blessed, good girl! What have you 
not saved me from!” 

Theresa flew at Mrs. Phillips^ neck with encircling 
arms, in the exuberance of her gratitude. 

Mercy, donT muss my ruche up, and donT upset 
me emotionally, please, for I\e got an awful scqne to go 
through with yet, and it will need all my brass, and 
more, too, to sustain me through it. Poor Joe! there^s 
no help to be looked for from that quarter.” 

Mrs. Phillips showed a set of handsome white teeth in 
a broad, smile, as she drew back from Thersie^s ecstatic 
embrace and smoothed her ruffled plumage. 

You don’t mean ” Thersie began, the light of 

intelligence coming into her eyes. 

‘^Yes, I do. I mean that papa Phillips don’t know 
anything at all about it yet, and that I’ve got to break 
it to him, and that Joe and I want you to go witli us 
to his offlce. Poor fellow! he’s sitting outdoors now in 
the carriage, quaking in his wedding-boots. He said ho 
didn’t know what you’d think of him, but he was quite 
sure you didn’t care a toss-up for him, and would be 
glad to get rid of him.” 

think just as much of him now as I ever did,” 
said Thersie, wording her reply significantly out of con- 
sideration for his wife’s feelings. 

But Sallie laughed merrily. She was too shrewd to 
be deceived by such a palpable dodge. 

I don’t doubt you do, and more, too, now you’re 
shut of him. But, come, will you go and help us 
through the storm with Papa Phillips. You know, he 
can’t kill us!” 

^‘^Ho!” said Thersie, laughing more joyously than she 
had laughed in months, ‘^fflie cannot kill you, and I 
will go with you.” 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


But when she entered the carriage where Josiah sat, 
pallid and quaking, she proposed an amendment. The 
thought had just flashed over her that, in the first out- 
break of his rage and disappointment, the lawyer might 
divulge something damaging to her sister. Emily must 
be protected at all costs. Turning to the abject object 
of terror upon whom she could look for the first time 
with pity, unmixed with horror, she said: 

‘‘Suppose, Mr. Phillips, you and your wife stop over 
at her home and let me tell the story of your marriage 
to your father, in my own way, and alone! By that 
means you will escape his first outburst of wrath. 

“A good idea, Joe,^^ says Mrs. Phillips, taking the 
lead in forming the conjugal opinion which she never 
was to give up. 

“Yes, but, by gad, you know, Ifil be awful glad if 
you would, and yes, but ^strue, I wish youM say you 
aonT think I^m a villain an' a fraud. You know Pve 
loved Sallie all my life." 

‘^I am glad you did just as you have done, Mr. Phil- 
lips, and you and your wife will never have a better 
friend than I want to be to both of you." 

“ Yes, but, you know, she's a trump, but ^strue," says 
Josiah, vaguely, leaving it doubtful whether Thersie or 
Sallie was the recipient of his most enthusiastic admira- 
tion. 

So Theresa bearded the lion alone in his den. 

It is bootless to repeat the rabid ravings that rent the 
air of Lawyer Phillips' office when he had fully mas- 
tered the details of Josiah's wrong-doing. 

Theresa let him rave himself into a state of exhaus- 
tion without interruption. When he finally dropped 
into his office-chair, and flung his head against the back 
of it in the calmness of despair, she spoke: 

“ I was ready to abide by the contract my sister had 
made with you, in order to save her. Your son has 
rendered that for ever impossible. I presume you will 
soon set about devising some other plan of extortion. 
You will need time for it. In the meantime, my sister 
is dying under this torture. I shall propose to her to 


298 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


take the tour as mapped out by you for your son and 
his wife, and I shall propose to the young couple to ac- 
company us in that tour. Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Phillips 
and Mrs. Ballantyne will still make the tour, plus Miss 
Gordon. I am quite aware, Mr. Phillips, that you only 
sought social advancement, for your son and yourself, 
in allying them with the Gordons and Ballantynes. I 
am willing to conciliate you to the extent of taking this 
young couple under my especial cliarge through the 
coming season, in return for which I demand that you 
leave my sister in peace. Her own conscience has 
scourged her sufficiently. Leave her to her Almighty 
Judge. 

The old man cast a sour, baffled look at her as she 
continued: 

I do not intend to leave this matter in your hands. 
I only regret that cowardice has kept my sister’s lips 
sealed so long. Her husband will know how to deal 
with you better than we two women can, and as man to 
man you shall settle this question of terrorizing!’^ 

It was an inspiration! One that had come to her only 
in that moment! To reveal Emily’s long-guarded secret 
to her brother-in-law would have been a hard thing to 
do, but better that, than have her sister’s days darkened 
by the baleful threats of this coward before her. 

You’ve got the very demon in you Theresa Gor- 
don!” 

Theresa laughed a low, triumphant laugh. She saw 
that she had struck the right key, and sounded it once 
more, more forcibly. 

‘‘1 give you five moments in which to decide whether 
you and I shall enter the lists against each other, or, 
whether you will agree to accept my services for Josiah 
and his wife. If the first, I shall go from this office 
and place Erederic and Everard Ballantyne in full pos- 
session of the facts of my sister’s wrong-doing. If the 
last a party of four friendly people will start from this 
port to-morrow on a bridal excursion.” 

• I’d as soon enter the lists against Old Hick him- 
self?” said the vanquished man. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


299 


^^And Joe and Jiis wife?^^ Theresa said, standing up to 

go- 

Let them keep out of my sight, or by She 

did not hear the rest by reason of her speedy exit with 
hands clasped about her ears. 


300 


TRUE TO HER8ELE. 


CHAPTEE XXXIV. 

A XATUKAL MISTAKE. 

E. DAVEXPOET had gone into winter quarters 
at Xice. He had been conscious of no especial 



reason for selecting Nice. 

He had drifted thither, he supposed, but up to date 
had been very well satisfied with the result of his acci- 
dental choice. 

The climate was all that could be desired, and the 
transient population of such a cosmopolitan character 
that one felt thoroughly at liberty to mingle with them 
or shun them, according to the mood one was in, with- 
out any feai of provincial inquisitiveness. 

Without exactly knowing why — perhaps because deep 
within every human heart lurks the ineradicable longing 
for home ties — this man, without a home, and with but 
one tie on earth — the one that bound him to the age- 
enfeebled mother longing for his return to the old plan- 
tation — had fallen into the habit of glancing over the 
arrivals in the hotel register every morning, to note if, 
perchance, any American names had been newly in- 
scribed therein; perhaps a Southerners; perhaps, again, 
some one he knew from the Crescent City. 

His curiosity was amply rewarded, and his pulses set 
to beating most violently, when, according to his cus- 
tom, on descending in the morning, he strolled into the 
office on this accustomed errand. 

The fresh arrivals were generally made at night. 

The page had been turned over since the previous 
day. 

.. Three names stared him in the face and stabbed him 
in the heart: 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 301 

*‘Mrs. Frederic Ballantyne, and Josiali Phillips and 
wife!” 

What purblind, bungling creatures we are, after all! 
As completely under the sway of the ruling passion — 
whatever it may chance to be at the moment — as the 
steam-driven vessel is under the engine that pulsates in 
its heart! 

Leslie Davenport^s ruling passion at the moment 
chanced to be jealousy — the most implacable of the 
v/hole pack of wolves- that gnaw and tear hungrily at the 
vital energies of poor humanity! 

If he had been in fuller possession of his more rational 
nature, he would have begun the reading of the hotel 
register exactly where he had left off the day previously, 
thereby discovering that, on the last line of the previous 
page, Mr. Josiah Phillips had gallantly headed the 
registry of his own little bridal-party with the name of 
Miss Theresa Gordon. But, not being in full posses- 
sion of his most rational faculties, Mr. Davenport simply 
stared at the three names that so far occupied the fresh 
page alone, with his hands in his pockets, and fierce re- 
sentment in his heart. 

Why, of all places under the sun, should they have 
selected this place in order to flaunt their newly-acquired 
happiness under his eyes? 

VVhich reflection capped the sum of Mr. Davenporh’s 
unreasonableness, seeing that no one in America, unless, 
perhaps, his partner in business, had the slightest idea 
of where he was. 

He turned from the office, sick at heart, irresolute 
whether to fly, or stand and take it ! 

^^Take what?” he asked himself, contemptuously. 

The sight of a woman, whom I had accredited with 
fictitious strength and charm, in possession of a dolt, a 
gilded caK! Should that be a sight to harrow one’s 
soul ?” 

'Hone the less for his bitter reasoning, the memory of 
Donna Quixote — tender, pure and brave, with the grace 
of angelic sweetness lingering in every curve of her face, 
as he had last watched her ministering to the bodily and 


302 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


the moral needs of his own wretched wife — haunted 
him. 

He did not deny to himself that he had meant, when 
the fitting moment came, to have asked her to enter and 
take possession of his heart, his life, his name and the 
silent, lovely home still waiting for the coming of that 
long-delayed guest — happiness. And now! Well, now! 
It was but one more chapter in that long lesson — endur- 
ance! He was not afraid of meeting the new arrivals at 
breakfast. He would take that meal as tranquilly as 
possible, and between that and the six o^clock dinner he 
would have time to drill himself according to such 
tactics as more deliberate consideration of the matter 
should dictate. 

Anybody could tell they were Americans by their 
lavish display of finery. The idea of dressing so for 
luncheon.^’’ 

^^Only the bride! And she does seem so absurdly 
happy, that one feels impelled to forgive her lavish dis- 
play of gorgeousness. It seems, as one might say, a por- 
tion of the general exuberance and overfiow of bliss.'’-’ 

This short dialogue addressed itself to Mr. Da\ enport’s 
ears, in the French language, as he strolled on the pier 
smoking his cigar an hour before the usual time at which 
he proposed dining. 

It acted like a tonic upon him. Why should he shun 
Josiah Phillips^ wife? The woman that could be ab- 
surdly happy with Mr. Phillips was a woman whom Mr. 
Davenport could scarcely find it in his heart to wear the 
willow for. 

He saw her first at the long dining-table. His own 
presence entirely unsuspected. The little party of four. 
He took in casually the fact that a fourth belonged to 
the party, a young woman of rather prepossessing appear- 
ance, who sat on Mr. Phillips^ left hand, while Thersie 
was on his right. Yes, it was an undeniable fact that 
she looked many degrees happier and brighter than when 
he last saw her. Her chief care during the meal seemed 
to be to coax her fragile-looking sister into enjoyment of 
the varied viands. 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


303 


'^Dear little DonnaP he said to himself, with a sudden 
thawing of the ice about his heart. “ How lovely she 
looks! Caring for some one else as ever! They lied on 
her when they said she was overdressed!” 

He was thankful when the four left the table, Mr. 
Phillips offering his arm to Mrs. Ballantyne, and the two 
younger women following together. He was glad that 
not one glance had been sent in his direction. 

The lamps were ablaze in the chandeliers in the big 
parlors, and in the private sitting-room of the bridal 
party, when a waiting-boy entered the presence of the 
three ladies and presented to Mrs. Josiah Phillips (she, 
by reason of her bridehood, ranking pre-eminent) a 
card: 

Mr. Leslie Davenport, for Mrs. Baliantyne and Mrs. 
Josiah Phillips.” 

Mr. Leslie Davenport! I never heard of the man in 
my life !” says Sallie, wheeling in brisk surprise from the 
perusal of the card toward the sofa where Emily is lying 
among the cushions, while Thersie sits by her side and 
softly smooths back the hair, where white strands are 
thickly intruding among the dark glossy hair. 

Emily feels the sudden heaviness that comes into 
Thersie’s hand as the gentle caressing motion ceases. 
She does not see the light that comes into Donna Quix- 
ote^s eyes. A light flashing from the soul outward. 

The boy stands respectfully, waiting for his answer. 

Miss Gordon gives it to him, first appealing to Emily. 

You will see him, Emily?” 

^^Hot to-night, Thersie. I am not equal to it.” 

Thus Emily decides instantaneously, thinking to se- 
cure for Leslie Davenport a tete-a-tete with her sister. 

A flicker of amusement played round Miss Gordon^s 
mouth as she turned sedately toward the waiting mes- 
senger: 

Mrs. Baliantyne begs to be excused, but Mrs. Phil- 
lips will be with Mr. Davenport in a moment.” 

Indeed, shefll be nothing of the sort!” says the 
bride, stoutly, as the boy disappears. ^^Why should 
he want to see me, and why should I want to see him? 
We donT know each other from a side of sole leather I” 


304 


TRUE TO HERSELF, 


^‘He is an old friend of my brother's, Sallie,” says 
Thersie, in her most coaxing accents, ^^and Emily evi- 
dently is not equal to the task of entertaining him this 
evening/^ 

Then why donT you go down?^^ inquires Sallie. 

Because he has not asked for me. I certainly should 
if he had.^'’ Which he will do,*’^ she continues, in a 
soothing soliloquy, ^^when this mystificatign is cleared 
up. Oh, my love! my love! my faith in you is death- 
less!”) You will go down, Sallie, to oblige us?” 

Sallie immediately begins prinking in front of the 
glass. 

^‘^You are a tyrant. Miss Gordon. IVe known that 
ever since the first day we started traveling together. 
You^ve had your own way with this crowd from the 
very beginning, but, all the same, it^s a monstrous sweet 
way.” 

Flying impulsively at Thersie^’s neck, Mrs. Phillips 
gave her a resounding kiss on each cheek, and then 
waltzed out of the room, slackening her gait to a digni- 
fied walk as she reached the top of the stairs. 

Who would, have imagined,” said Emily, as she 
disappeared, that Josiah Phillips could ever make a 
woman so happy?” 

^‘^It is all m the eternal fitness of things — in preserv- 
ing the unities. Josiah Phillips and Sallie Williams 
perfectly comprehend and complement each other. She 
will be the making of him with her fresh, brisk, com- 
mon-sense energy,” says Thersie, sagely, inwardly won- 
dering what Leslie Davenport is saying to Sallie at that 
moment. 

In reality, he is not saying anything at all. 

He is standing in front of Mrs. Josiah Phillips — who 
has walked straight up to him from the door, guided by 
the fact that he is the only man there who seems to be 
waiting for anybody — the perfect picture of helpless 
bewilderment, looking down at her dumbly as she intro- 
duces herself volubly. 

She has his card in her hand, so there is no chance of 
denying his own identity. 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


305 


Mrs. Ballantyne begs to be excused, sir; she hopes 
to see you to-morrow; she is really almost quite an in- 
valid. I am to thank you for the attention of your call, 
and am to do the best I can to atone to her husband's 
best friend." 

Mrs. Phillips puts out a much be-ringed hand in cor- 
dial greeting. 

Mr. Leslie Davenport takes it mechanically into his 
own, bows over it, and says: 

^‘Thanks. And Mrs. Phillips?" 

Mercy! Pm Mrs. Phillips!" says Sallie, with a ring- 
ing laugh and a mantling blush. 

I beg your pardon! I — madam " 

Suddenly the power of articulation seems to desert 
him. Something like a pallor is settling about the 
grave, stern mouth of the man before her. Sallie is too 
shrewd not to see that he is suffering from some great 
mental strain. With womanly tact she draws him into 
the deep embrasure of one of the big bay windows. He 
follows her at her command, and seats himself docilely 
by her side on the cushioned window-seat. 

You puzzle me," she said, in a voice full of sympa- 
thy for his evident struggle for self-mastery. I have 
startled you in some way or other, but I assure you — 
stop!" the light of revelation beams in her pretty face 
as she turned it full upon Leslie Davenport. I have 
it! How I know why her eyes — Thersie's I mean — 
looked like moons when she said you had not asked for 
her. It was reported once that she and my husband 
were going to be married — would have been if the old 
man could have had his way," she flung in, parentheti- 
cally. Perhaps — you won't be mad with me, will you? 
perhaps you're an old beau of Thersie's, and you were 
fixing up for a very dignified interview, in which you 
were to show her you didn't care a rush if she had flung 
you over for Joe Phillips. I remember now just how 
your mouth looked when I came in, as if you had gotten 
it ready to bite your tongue in two before she should see 
how she'd hurt you. But she can see it. It shows all 
over your face! I never saw you before in my life, but 


306 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


nature never painted those dark circles under your eyes. 
You love Thersie! Heaven bless her! how could any- 
body help loving her? And you feel this moment as if 
you could call down Heaven’s choicest blessings on me 
for being Mrs. Josiah Phillips myself. You ought to, 
for I tell you you came as near losing Thersie as I came 
to losing Joe. You’ll never tell. I’m sure. Joe would 
kill me if he knew that I’d ever told anybody this much. 
The old man-^Pa Phillips, I mean — got some hold on 
Mrs. Byllantyne, up yonder, and he made her promise 
that Thersie should marry his son — social advancement 
and all that sort of thing, you know,” said Mrs. Phil- 
lips, sniffing scornfully, ^^and a pretty mess they’d a 
made of it, if things had gone to suit the old man. 
Thersie miserable, and Joe miserable, and me — well, I’d 
a gotten over it. Good fish in the sea as was ever got 
out of it, and you, too,” she continued, twitching her 
bracelets into position. ‘‘1 think I’ve been a sorter 
benefactor to the whole lot of you, and you owe me a 
vote of thanks.” 

As one entranced, Leslie Davenport sat still and 
smiled upon the undertaker’s daughter, as she thus 
calmly exposed his most sacred emotions to view, turned 
his soul inside out, as it were, for her own amusement 
or enlightenment. 

But in his transport of gratitude to her for being Mrs. 
Josiah Phillips, and thus for ever rendering it impossible 
for Donna Quixote to immolate herself on that altar, her 
voice was music to him, and her utterances like pearls 
and rubies of wisdom, and he could forgive her much — 
oh, so much! 

‘'‘^And all this time,” Sallie continued, laughing 
roguishly into his earnest eyes, ^^you are wishing I 
would get up from this sofa and go up-stairs and tell 
Thersie it was all a mistake about your wanting to see 
Mrs. Josiah Phillips.” He flashed his rare smile at her, 
but did not waste any polite fibs on her. 

Sallie was so honest and shrewd that she would see 
through the sham. 

I have one favor to ask of you,” she said, standing 


^RUE TO HERSELF. 


307 


before him with more gravity in face and voice than he 
had noticed yet, ‘^Mvhen — when you and Thersie are 
married, promise me you won^t make her — cut us/^ 

Cut you?” said the merchant, a little wonderingly. 

Yes; you know- Joe and I don^t pretend to be her 
equal in anyway, but she does us good; and, oh! nobody 
wants to give Thersie up after theyVe onceT:nown her!” 

Nobody ever does,” said he, with fervor in his 
voice. 

Then Sallie went away from him, and presently there 
came to him — there, in the alcove — the woman for whom 
he felt he had been waiting all his life! 

AVith no word of greeting, she placed her hand in his 
and raised her great truthful eyes to his agitated face, 
letting them rest upon him in a trustful, fond embrace. 

My darling, it is yet possible!” he said. Thank 
Heaven! thank Heaven!” 

Some time it will be,” said Th^sie, too true to 
make pretence of not knowing that their hearts were 
full of unutterable love for each other, and that life 
held but one desire for both. 

She held out to him her arms, each plump white 
wrist was encircled by a golden bangle, from which 
swung the unlocked paddock. He flushed as he recog- 
nized the cruel bridal-gift he had sent her. She placed 
the tiny key in his palm. 

^^No hand but yours, my own, might ever have 
turned that key. For him whose mastery she gladly 
acknowledges, a woman rejoices to wear the badge of 
ownership 1” 


308 


TRUE TO EEB8ELF, 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A GATHERIis^G OF THE CLAIMS. 

O XE DAY in the early chill of the Autnmn, when 
the first frost-ripened leaves were beginning to 
fiutter downward like dead butterflies, specking the 
green lawn with vivid spots of color, the gardener who 
had charge of Leslie DavenporPs town-house straight- 
ened his back, and glanced in the direction of the ban- 
quet, from which a shrill whistle had just then come. 

Letter for you,^^ said the carrier, sending a thick, 
square envelope hurtling across the lawn to the old 
man's feet. 

It was such an unusual occurrence for the Swede to 
get a letter, that he stood looking down. on it with stu- 
pid surprise. Who was there to write to him ? He 
fumbled for his spectacles. The post-mark was only a 
blur to him without them. 

But his pockets were empty. He glanced up at the 
sun. It was not exactly in the zenith. 

Maran did not like him to come bothering about the 
kitchen before high-noon. The letter could wait." 

He thrust it in his trouser's pocket, and resumed the 
task of picking up the dead leaves. 

^^Cora could read it. He wasn't much at deciphering 
strange lettering, but Cora was great on anything that 
came with book-learning. It was all that Miss Gordon's 
work, too. How good she had been to his crippled child. 
And how Cora missed her. 

By the way. Perhaps after all the letter was for 
Cora, and from foreign parts. I'd best not keep it any 
longer." 

Fear of Maran was merged in a greater fear that he 
might be keeping something pleasant from the child 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


309 


who had grown doubly dear since she had become help- 
less. 

Cora was sitting on the portico of the cottage in the 
wheel-chair which Leslie Davenport had provided for 
her, when it became certain that she should never walk 
again, when her fa?her came toward her holding out the 
big square envelope. 

A letter for you, lass.'’^ 

Cora dropped the bead-work her skillful little hands 
made such a source of revenue, to clutch the letter eag- 
erly. 

For me! No, for you; no, for Maran! From Flor- 
ence. Call Maran; it must be from our dear Miss Gor- 
don.^^ 

Maran came hastily at the loud summons, which 
reached her in the kitchen, and Nannette left olf setting 
the table for dinner, and they all gathered about Corals 
wheel-chair, while she carefully and daintily broke the 
waxen seal to the big envelope. In point of length the 
^ letter was disappointing, but the few words it contained 
gave the gardener's family ample material for the most 
excited speculation during the rest of that day. 

The letter was to Mrs. Wynkoop, and it was from 
Leslie Davenport himself. He simply wrote to ask her 
to have the home in thoroughly habitable order by the 
twenty-fifth of December. 

‘‘ I mean, of course," he said, after the painters and 
plasterers and uphokterers get through with it. It will 
be thoroughly renovated, and Mrs. Davenport desires 
me to say that you are to have seven sleeping-rooms 
ready for occupancy on Christmas Eve, as there will be a 
great gathering of the clans on that occasion." 

^‘Mrs. Davenport! Then he is going to bring the 
mistress back with him after all these days," said the 
gardener, twisting the empty envelope absently about 
his horny forefinger. 

■ The gardener's wife said nothing, but memory carried 
her swiftly back to that haggard face, with its fevered 
eyes, as she had last seen it, lying upon the bed in the 
darkened room at the big house. 


mVE TO UERSELF. 


:no 

Tve always had a hope, just a; hope, you know, 
mother,'’^ deprecating the rebuke in Marauds eyes, ^‘that 
the master and my Miss Gordon would come some day 
to live in the beautiful rooms up there. Wouldn^’t it be 
lovely, JS'annie?'’'’ 

Lovely!^'’ said Nannie enthusiastically; ^^but now 
he^s bringing home some foreign lady, who, mayhaps, 
won^t even let us hang our wreath about his picture any 
more,'’^ she concluded in dissatisfied tones. 

Tut, tut! Gossiping here about the master^s busi- 
ness, as if we had anything to do but to get ready them 
seven bed-rooms. 

Seven bed-rooms! Who can they all be for?^^ Cora 
said, referring again to the open letter in her hand, to 
make sure she had not exaggerated the master^s needs. 

Seven was the number. Maran^s husband solved the 
difficulty by suggesting that the master had married a 
widow with no end of children, and perhaps governesses 
and nurses by the score would soon be swarming over 
the lavms he had kept in such perfect order all these 
years, hoping and wishing for the home-coming, to- 
ward which, now that it was imminent, they all looked 
forward with considerable apprehen^on. 

But it was not until the very eve of the Christmas 
toward which their best efforts and most excited atten- 
tion was turned, that this consuming curiosity was grati- 
fied. 

It was a grievous trial to Cora fp have to sit still in 
the wheel-chair, and strain her eyes toward the “^big 
house which looked like an enchanted palace now that 
it was all lighted up, for the gathering of the clans. 

All the rest of the family had gone up to the house to 
welcome the master and the mistress home. But Nan- 
nette’s heart was too full to keep her long away from 
Corals side. 

She rushed in upon her tumultuously. 

Such a grand home-coming, Cora. Such a lovely, 
lovely home-coming. All in carriages. More people 
than ever came through the big iron gates since ever 
they were made.'’^ 


TRUE TO HERSELF. 


311 


Yes, the clans had gathered. Mrs. Costa, with Leah 
as attendant, had been the first to arrive. She had 
trembled violently in crossing the threshold of the old 
home once more, but with a sigh of glad relief, she 
turned to Leah, saying: 

^^All changed, thank God! Nothing as it used to 
be.” 

Nothing as it used to be,” Leah answered impress- 
ively, as she piloted her mistress through the stately hall 
to her own room. 

Then the young Ballantynes,” as Everard and his 
family were called. They needed two rooms. One for 
Everard and Fanny, and one for Mother Ballantyne and 
Mr. L. D. Ballantyne, a most exacting member of the 
family. But Mother Ballantyne was quite the nurse she 
used to be. 

Emily came leaning on Fredericks arm. Fearlessly, 
for he knew it all. Thank God, Emile, who tpwered 
above her, handsome, boyish, care-free, never need blush 
for his mother. 

Josiah and his wife were there, radiant and well 
matched, quite in the Ballantyne set. All this informa- 
tion, in her own limited way Nannette conveyed to Cora 
tumultuously. 

- But Miss Gordon. Have they not even asked our 
dear Miss Gordon to the Christmas feast?” 

Oh, Cora. Your lovely dream has come true. The 
master and our Miss Gordon have come together to live 
in the beautiful house, which we call the temple of 
truth you know, from the picture in your book.” 

^^Then,” said Cora, "'we can still hang our wreaths 
on the master’s pictures.” 

Leslie Davenport and Theresa Gordon had indeed 
taken up their abode in the temple of truth. 

[the end.] * 










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V 




USElTTJIu AJlKTy r*Il^CTIO A.IL1 BOOKS 


Cyclopedia of Natural History : Comprising descriptions of 
Animal Life: Mammals, Birds, Reptiles, Batrachians and Fishes. Their 
Structure, Habits and Distribution. For popular use. By Chas. C. Abbott, 
M. D. C20 pages. 500 illustrations. Cloth. Price, $1,00. 

The National Standard History of the United States: 

A complete and concise account of the growth and development of the Nation, 
from its discovery to the present time. By Fverit Brown. 600 pages. Illus- 
trated. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

The National Standard Encyclopedia : A Dictionary of Lit- 
erature, the Arts, and the Sciences, for pc^ular use. Containing over 20,000 
articles pertaining to the various Arts and Sciences. 700 pages. 1,000 illustra- 
tions. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Law Without Lawyers; A Compendium of Business and 
Domestic Law, for popular use. By Henry B. Corey, LL. B., member of New 
York Bar. Cloth. Price, $1.25, 

The National Standard Dictionary ; A pronouncing lexicon 
of the English Language, containing 40,000 words, and illustrated with 700 
wood-cuts, to which is added an appendi.\ of useful and valuable information. 
600 pages. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

What Every One Should Know : A cyclopedia of Practical 

Information, containing complete directions for making and doing over 4,000 
things necessary in Business, the Trades, the Shop, the Farm and the Kitchen. 
516 pages. Cloth. Price, $1.00, 

Dr. Danelson’s Counselor, with Recipes ; A trusty guide for 

the family. An illustrated book of 720 pages, treating Physiology, Hygiene, 
Marriage, Medical Practice, etc. Illustrated. Cloth. Price, $1.50. 

Boys’ Useful Pastimes ; Pleasant and profitable amusement 
for spare hours, in the use of tools. By Prof. Robert Griffith, A. M. Illus- 
trated. Cloth. Price, ,$1,00. 

Friendly Chats With Girls. A series of Talks on Manners, 

Duty, Behavior, and Social Customs. Containing sensible advice and counsel 
on a great variety of important matters which girls should know. By Mrs. M. 
A. Kidder. Illustrated. Cloth. Price, 50 cents. 

A Handy Classical and Mythological Dictionary, for pop- 

ular use, with 70 illustrations. By H. C. Faulkner. Cloth. Price, 50 cents. 

A Handy Dictionary of Synonyms, with which are combined 
the words opposite in meaning. By H. C. Faulkner. For the use of all those 
who would speak or wTite the English Language fluently and correctly. 
Cloth. Price, 50 cents. 

Talks With Homely Girls : On health and beauty, their pre- 

Ker\’ation and cultivation. By Frances Smith. Cloth. Price, 50 cents. 

Famous People of All Ages : Who they were, when they 
lived, and why they are famous. By W. H. Van Orden. Cloth. Price, 50 
cents 

The Usages of the Best Society : A manual of social eti- 

quette. By Frances Stevens. Cloth. Price, 50 cents. 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent post-paid on receipt of 
the price by the publisher, A. L BURT, 56 Beekman St, New York. 


Ai?^r> i^itAOTXoAiL. hook:©. 


BOOKS FOR BOYS. 

Joe’s Luck; or, A Boy’s Adventures in California. By 

Horatio Alger, Jr. Illustrated. Cloth. I*rice, $1,00. 

Julian Mortimer; or, A Brave Boy’s Struggles for Home 

AND Fortune. By Harry Castlemon, Illustrated. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Adrift in the Wilds; or. The Adventures of Two Shit- 
vrecked Boys. By Edward S. Ellis. Illustrated. Cloth. Price, $1.00, 

Frank Fowler, the Cash Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr. Il- 

lustrated. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Guy Harris, the Runaway. By Harry Castlemon. Illus- 

trated. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Ben Burton, the Slate Picker. By Harry Prentice. Illus- 

trated. Cloth. Price, $1.00. 


THE JENNY JUNE SERIES OF MANUALS FOR LADIES. 

Needle- Work : A manual of stitches and studies in embroidery 
and drawn work. Edited by Jenny June. Illustrated. Papercover. Price, 
50 cents. 

Knitting and Crochet ; A guide to the use of the needle and 
the hook. Edited by Jenny June. Illustrated. Paper cover. Price, 50 
4:ents. 

Ladies’ Fancy Work : New Edition. A new book, giving 
designs and plain directions for all kinds of Fancy Needle-work. Edited by 
Jenny June. 700 illustrations. Papercover. Price, 50 cents. 

Letters and Monograms : For marking on Silk, Linen and 
other ifabrics, for individuals, and household use. Edited by Jenny June. 
1,000 ^lustrations. Paper cover. Price, 50 cents. 


Burt’s Selected Gems of Song : A choice collection of sixty- 
two favorite songs from the works of the best composers, with accompaniments 
Jor piano and organ. Paper cover. Price, 00 cents. 

Burt’s Selected Gems of Melody : A collection of eighty 

popular compositions of instrumental music for the home, selected from the 
works of favorite composers, arranged for the piano and organ. Paper cover. 
Price, 00 cents. 

Burt’s Selected Gems of Dance Music : A choice selection 
of seventy-eight pieces of standard dance mnsic from the works of favorite 
composers, arranged for the piano or organ. Paper cover. Price, 00 cents* 


Patience Pettigrew’s Perplexities. A veracious history of 

the experiences of Patience Pettigrew, relict of the late lamented Josiah Petti- 
grew, Esq., etc., etc. By Clara Augusta. Illustrated by Thos. Worth. Paper 
cover. P'Hce, 25 cents. 

Paper Flowers : A manual of designs and directions for mak- 
ing paper flowers from tissue paper. By Florence. Illustrated by A. O. C. 
Paper cover. Price, 15 cents. 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent post-paid on receipt of 
the price by the publisher, L L BURT, 56 BeekmanSt, New York. 


Good Stories for Boys. 


It is almost superfluous to say anything 
in praise of stories written by Horatio Al- 
ger, Jr., Harry Castlemon, Edward S. 

Ellis, James Otis, and others who have 
contributed to this series of Stories for 
Boys. These names are a passport, as 
every youngster knows, to hours of the 
keenest delight and enjoyment in scenes 
of stirring life and adventure. 

A more judicious selection of spirited 
stories for boys it would be hard to find 
than the following list, and parents realiz- 
ing this should provide these books for 
their children without hesitation. 

Each number contains a complete 
story, illustrated, occupying from 250 to 
300 large pages. 

THE FOLLOWING ARE THE TITLES: 

JOE’S LUCK ; or, A Boy’s Adventures in California. By Horatio Al- 
ger, Jr. Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 

JULIAN MORTIMER ; or, A Brave Boy’s Struggles for Home and 
Fortune. By Harry Castlemo.v. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 
ADRIFT IN THE "WILDS ; or. The Adventures of Two Shipwrecked 
Boys. By Edward S. Ellis. Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 
FRANK FOWLER, THE CASH BOY. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 
GUY HARRIS, THE RUNAWAY. By Harry Castlemon. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 
BEN BURTON, THE SLATE-PICKER. By Harry Prentice. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 centsi 
TOM TEMPLE’S CAREER. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents 

TOM THE READY ; or, Up from the Lowest. By Randolph Hill. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents 

THE CASTAWAYS; or. On the Florida Reefs. By James Otis. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 

CAPTAIN KIDD’S GOLD. The True Story of an Adventurous Sailoi 
Boy. By Ja.mes Franklin Fitts. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 

TOM THATCHER’S FORTUNE. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 

LOST IN THE CANON. The Story of Sam Willett’s Adventures on 
the Great Colorado of the West. By Alfred R. Calhoun. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 

A YOUNG HERO ; or, Fighting to Win. By Edward S. Ellis. 

Cloth $1.00. Paper cover 25 cents. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or ivill be sent post-paid on receipt of 
the price by the publisher, A. L. BURT. 56 Beekman St, New York^ 




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THE CELEBRATED 



GEAND, SQUAEE AND UPEIGHT PIANOS. 


FIEST PRIZE 
DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exhibition, 
1876, Montreal, 1881 and 
1882. 

The enviable po- 
sition Sohnier & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 



They are used 
in Conservatories, 
Schools and Sem- 
inaries, on account 
of their superior 
tone and unequaled 
durability. 

The SOHMER 
Piano is a special 
favorite with the 
leading musicians 
and critics. 


AKTE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPEEAK 


AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, Nos. 149 to 155 E. 14t]i St., N. Y, 


USEFUL AND PRACTICAL BOOKS 


FRIENDLY CHATS WITH GIRLS. 
A Series of Talks on Manners, Duty, Be- 
havior, and Social Custom. Containing sen- 
sible advice and counsel on a great variety of 
important matters which girls should know. 
By Mrs. M. A. I^dsr. Illustrated. Cloth, 
price 50 cents. 

A HANDY CLASSICAL AND MYTH- 
OLOGICAL DICTIONARY, for popu- 
lar use, with 70 illustrations. By H. C. 
Faulkner. Cloth, price 50 cents. 

A H ANDY DICTIONARY OF SYNO- 
NYMS, with which are combined the words 
opposite in meaning. By H. C. Faulkner. 
For the use of all those who would speak or 
write the English Language fluently or cor- 
rectly. Cloth, price 50 cen»s. 

TALKS WITH HOMELY GIRLS : On 
health and beauty, their preservation and 
cultivation. By Frances Smith. Cloth, 
price, 50 cents. 


NEEDLE-WORK . A manual of stitches 
and studies in embroidery and drawn work. 
Edited by Jenny June. Illustrated. Paper 
cover, price "o cents. 

KNITTING AND CROTCHET: A 
guide to the'use of the needle and the hook. 
Edited by J E.NNY June. Illustrated. Paper 
cover, price 50 cents. 

LADIES’ FANCY WORK : New Edi- 
tion. A new book giving designs and plain 
directions for all kinds of Fancy Needle-work 
Edited by Jenny June. 700 illustrations. 
Paper cover, price 50 cents. 

LETTERS AND MONOGRAMS: For 
marking on Silk, Linen and other fabrics, for 
individuals, and household use. Edited by 
Jenny June. 1,000 illustrations. Paper 
cover, orice 50 cents. 

THE USAGES OF THE BEST SOCI- 
ETY : A manual of social etiquette. By 
Frances S'tevens. Cloth, price 50 cents. 


Sent postpaid on receipt of the price by the publisher, 

A. L. BURT, 56 Beekiuau St., New York. 



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